


My Name Is Castiel

by elizaye



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Case, Fate, Genderswap, Heaven, Hell, Like boatloads of angst, M/M, POV First Person, Prophecy, Purgatory, Soul Bond, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-20 21:37:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 167,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaye/pseuds/elizaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My name is Castiel, and I am an angel of the Lord. Let me tell you my story. Let me tell you everything.</p><p>Or, in which Castiel escapes from Death's clutches yet again, only to jump right into the fight against the Leviathans. Post-7x10</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Castiel Rising

**Author's Note:**

> Italicized print denotes flashbacks. Because of these flashbacks, this fic will contain major spoilers for anything in Supernatural leading up to and including "Death's Door" (7x10). Also, I should say ahead of time that the genderswap will be for only one character, and it's temporary.

“Castiel.”

I freeze at the sound of his voice.  But then again, had I been in motion before he spoke?  Perhaps I had been.  Perhaps not.  I don’t know anymore.  But I’ll always recognize his Voice.

“Finally, we meet.”

My eyes open, though I don’t need them to see him.

“Michael.”

I’ve only seen him once, in a human vessel, a face that is now unfamiliar to me.  But that vessel had been important.  Why had it been so important?

“You are confused.  I understand.  It is the most reasonable reaction.”

His face.  It’s different from the last time I saw him.  He is using a new vessel, then.  What is happening?

“Where are we?” I ask aloud.

“Earth,” he replies.

Earth.  Our Father’s perfect creation.

And then I frown.

Our Father.

The words seem almost foreign to me.  Our Father left us.

“Castiel.”

Michael draws my attention back to him, and upon looking at his face for a second time, memories come rushing back.

“Ah, there you go,” I faintly hear him say.

I remember searing heat.  Millions of souls.  Losing my mind.  And then—

“Dean.”

“Ah, Lucifer was right.  You really _are_ a surprise.  You remembered much more quickly than I thought you would.  I hardly had to prompt you at all.”

He’s smiling.  Why is he smiling?  Instead, I ask a more relevant question.

“How am I alive?  And you—you should be in the cage.  Unless…”

“No, Castiel, you are not in the cage,” he says before panic can take hold of me.  “I thought you would recognize the cage if you were in it—after all, you _were_ the one who took Sam away.”

I only frown at him.  He seems to be occupying the body of a young John Winchester.  Did he resurrect him as well?

“I rebuilt you, brother,” he tells me.

“But… why?”

“Because you allowed me to escape.  When you raised Sam, I followed.”

I watch him warily.  “Then Lucifer—”

“I am stronger than him.  I was able to ride—”

“ _No_.”

He looks perplexed by my interruption; even I am almost surprised by my outburst.

“Sam’s soul,” I say.  “That was your fault.”

This statement almost makes me cringe.  If Michael raised me, he can just as easily strike me down.  I should not be so quick to anger the one who raised me.

“It was regrettable, yes,” he admits, much to my surprise.  “I could not leave with his body while his soul inhabited it.”

I level a steady glare in his direction and say, “Tell me why you’ve brought me back.”

“Well, that’s simple enough.  The Leviathans are here.  They should not be.  You brought them down upon the Earth—it’s only right that you rid the Earth of this plague.”

“Why don’t _you_ do something about it?  You’re an archangel.”

Michael smiles again, and I frown.

“It is not my problem,” he says.

I suppose it’s true.  Despite my intentions, and the fact that I successfully prevented another apocalypse, my foolishness and arrogance caused this, and it should be my duty to clean up the mess.  I look back up at Michael.

“Your fight with Lucifer…”

The archangel’s face darkens.  “Our Father has left, and we have strayed so far from the path that I… no longer know what he wants of me.”

“Then you—”

“I will protect his kingdom, of course.  And I will allow the humans to live in peace.  Our Father treasured these creations most, so they should be protected.”

I am again surprised.  “You have changed, Michael.”

“We are not an unchanging race,” he responds.  “Goodbye, Castiel.”

“Wait,” I say.  “Dean and Sam—”

“They are still alive.  I do not know where they are— _you_ ensured that they could not be found unless they asked to be.”

I nod, remembering the sigil I engraved into their ribs.

“Oh, and I just remembered something,” Michael says with a small smile.  “I have a gift for you.”

“Better than rebirth?”

He laughs at this.  “I like you.”  A small frown crosses his face.  “Perhaps it is because Dean Winchester has influenced you.  You are more human than the rest of us.”

I don’t respond.  From the expression on his face, I cannot tell whether he approves or disapproves.  But I quickly find that I don’t care.

“I should go,” Michael finally says.

He stretches, and massive, golden wings flap into existence behind him.

“Good luck, Castiel.”

He snaps his fingers once, and I hear a loud thud behind me.  I watch him shift into the other dimension, out of my sight, before turning around.  A huge clump of white—but sullied—feathers is on the ground.

Is this what Michael meant by a gift?

Then a low moan of pain comes from it.  Must be an angel—one of my brothers.  I take a few cautious steps toward him.  And then I realize with a jolt that I’ve no idea where my blade is.  As God, I had considered it obsolete.

But this… this is one of my brothers.  If he is antagonistic, how shall I defend myself, unarmed?

I come to a stop a few feet away from the quivering heap of feathers and see that my brother must be curled up, a wing extended over his body in a feeble attempt at self-defense, or perhaps comfort?

Another moan.

And this time, I recognize his voice.  Incredulously, I speak.

“Balthazar?”

He stiffens noticeably at the sound, and I know it’s him.  I rush to his side, pressing his wing out of the way, and see that he’s covered in blood.  His vessel is in poor condition, and his Grace is shining through in several areas.

“Brother,” I breathe.  “What’s happened to you?”

“It appears Michael is… fond of holding grudges,” he murmurs.  “I stole the weapons of Heaven.  He sought to punish me.”

“But he brought you back.”

“Yes, yes—” he coughs a few times, and I begin to speak, but he holds a hand up to silence me.  “Yes, he brought me back.  But that was a favor to you, not to me.”

Our eyes meet, and suddenly guilt washes over me, almost as strong as what I felt in the warehouse, before returning the souls to Purgatory.

“I… am sorry, Balthazar.”

“For killing me, you mean.”

I flinch at his words but nod anyway.  It’s the truth.

“Forgiven,” he says easily, and I blink in surprise.  “I’m having a bit of trouble healing so if you wouldn’t mind—”

“Yes, of course.”

I turn him to lie on his stomach and straighten his wings out.  Their sorry state saddens me, but when I am finished, they will be good as new.  I press my palm to his body, just between the attachment points for his wings, and call upon my Grace to repair him.

Suddenly a rush of what feels like lightning travels through my being, and Balthazar cries out in pain.  I immediately draw my hand back, shocked.  He’s healed, but he’s glowing a bit too, now, as though he’s been overcharged with energy.

“What did you—” Balthazar begins as he turns a bit to look at me.

But his words stop abruptly, and his eyes widen.

“Cas… you…” he whispers.

“What?”

“Michael told me that he would bring you back and make you better, but _this_ … I did not expect…”

“What is it, Balthazar?” I ask impatiently.

“Look… look at your wings.”

I bring one into my sight.

A flash of gold.

“You’re an archangel.”

* * *

_I am different._

_When I was first created, I heard these words distinctly: “Little One, You Are Different.  And You Are Called Castiel.”_

_Anna told me to stop being silly when I spoke with her about these words.  When she realized that I was serious, she thought it might have been God.  But why He would have taken notice of me I do not know._

_I still have not found what it is that makes me different.  I am no braver, nor am I more of a coward.  I do not possess significantly more or less self-restraint, intelligence, or obedience than do my brothers and sisters.  And while black wings are uncommon, they are not entirely unheard of.  In fact, Zachariah has a strange brownish-red color for his wings that differs from_ all _others._

_So why was I told that I was different?_

_Perhaps it is because I ask too many questions.  But I do not ask them aloud.  Anna claimed that she was far more inquisitive than I was, but she stopped asking.  It is not right to question our Father’s intentions.  After all, He is our Creator, and He is the one whom we serve.  That is the way it has always been, and that is the way it will always be._

_“Castiel!”_

_Zachariah’s voice draws me out of my thoughts, and I join him at a small temple.  It seems to have Greek influences, but I do not recognize the architecture._

_“Michelangelo always did like sculpting better than painting,” Zachariah comments as he looks at the building.  “But I think he’s running out of new ideas.  It’s boring now, really.”_

_I stand in silence, awaiting orders._

_“Not chatty today, are you, Castiel?  But I kid.  You are one of the quietest angels I know.  I have a job for you.”_

_I nod._

_“Dean Winchester,” he says.  “Our Father has plans for that man.”_

_“Dean Winchester,” I repeat, rolling the words around in my head._

_“War is coming,” Zachariah says.  “The war we all knew would come is nearly upon us.”_

_Still I do not respond, though it seems that Zachariah expected more of a reaction from me._

_“The Apocalypse,” he finally says.  “The first seal has been broken.”_

_I steel myself for the request that is coming—all of us know what the first seal is, and what it must mean for the man who breaks it._

_“Raise Dean Winchester, and speak to him.  Do not inform him of his destiny yet—he has a long road ahead of him, and no man should know too much of his own destiny.”_

_I nod.  “Will there be anything else?” I ask._

_Zachariah shakes his head.  “Be stealthy, my brother.”_

* * *

_There is no direct path between Heaven and Hell.  I spend a few days traveling the Earth, deciding on the best place to breach the barrier between Earth and Hell._

_In that time, I see that humans have become complacent, lazy, content.  There are few warriors left, and men in power sit back, allowing missiles and armies to settle quarrels for them.  I cannot disapprove, but it does not bode well if mankind must learn to defend itself from the demon hordes that will rise up with Lucifer._

_But I have faith that we will stop this, that our Father will have given us the means to win in this Dean Winchester._

_Upon entering Hell, nothing appears to block my way.  The first thing I notice is a slight chill.  It is strange—I have not felt anything before, and the sensation of cool air makes me shiver.  But I must press on.  There is a reason for my presence here._

_I hold my wings back carefully and attempt to adopt the manner of walking that many souls exhibit here, but I soon give up—I am too pure to pass completely unnoticed by them._

_And yet, because I am silent, none give me trouble.  Perhaps they take me for a wandering soul that has merely taken a wrong turn.  As for the demons, I shield myself with my inky black wings whenever they come close enough to spy me, and holding still, they do not notice my presence in the darkness of the Inferno._

_I find the torture chambers—it’s not difficult.  I merely have to follow the screams of the damned.  As I draw nearer, the coldness intensifies, and I frame my Grace with my wings to try to keep warmth in, but to no avail.  Then I begin to hear more than screams: the sickening squelch of flesh as it is hacked off and strewn about carelessly._

_Still silent, I ease into the chamber._

_Despite the horrors and bloodshed filling the room, my attention is drawn only to one point.  A soul, shining bright as the sun, with sheen similar to that of angelic Grace, is in this room._

_I instantly know that this is Dean Winchester._

_I circle different souls, at work on torturing their victims, each soul getting darker, more mangled and twisted by its actions._

_And then I watch Dean, working quietly, efficiently, with a grim smile of satisfaction on his face.  He guts a man and forces him to watch his innards spill onto the floor.  Then he takes a ladle and spoons some of it up._

_“Hungry?” he taunts._

_“Dean Winchester,” I say softly._

_And the world around us rumbles in response to the announcement of my intrusion._

_Dean turns and notices my presence, but he only frowns, green eyes narrowing, unsure what to make of me.  The rumbling gets steadily louder, and I grasp his forearm._

_“Dean, we must go.”_

_“No,” he responds, jerking his arm away._

_“Now, Dean!” I growl, and the rumbling is thunderous now—the other souls have stopped their torturing to clap their hands over their ears, but Dean only looks at me defiantly._

_A great cloud of black smoke tears into the room, ripping chunks of the wall away.  The temperature drops even further.  I react on instinct, grasping Dean’s shoulder tightly and pulling him toward me.  My wings snap out, and we take off through the smoke._

_It beats at us, and I hear souls screaming down below as demons attack them as well.  Dean lets out a few hoarse shouts in pain and demands that I put him down, but I only tighten my grip on his shoulder._

_“Hang on, Dean Winchester,” I murmur in his ear, even as the demons tear at my wings in an attempt to stop my flight._

_At my words, Dean relaxes slightly, and I brace myself for a quick heal and an even quicker flight.  I let loose my Grace, allowing it to burn away the demons nearest us, buying me enough time to fix up my wings and steady our flight._

_But Dean howls in pain, and I realize with regret that as bright as his soul is, it still is not Grace; as a human, he cannot bear to be in contact with an angel’s Grace.  But the desperate measure works—I soar out of Hell relatively unscathed and land heavily by Dean’s grave._

_In this world, Dean glows even brighter, free of the tainted stains of Hell._

_I move into the grave and slowly reconstruct his body from his skeleton, his form making itself known to me as I work.  Each muscle, each nerve, each tissue forms at my command, and I feel the Creator’s magic pulsing through my being as I put this man back together again._

_I make his body whole, free of any marks or blemishes, and when I am satisfied, I carefully return the soul of Dean Winchester to his body._

_But as the soul takes hold, I see that the scar of a handprint manifests itself on his shoulder, and I am ashamed.  Ashamed that I marked a soul so bright, so special.  For he is the one who will stop the Apocalypse, and with a soul as bright as his, able to survive so long a term in Hell without taint, I do not doubt it._

_In the last moments before he wakes, I recreate his clothing before retreating to look after myself.  My wings ache, and I sit in a stretch of privately-owned woods, invisible to humans, and stretch my wings out._

_I look up at the sky.  It seems much bluer from down here.  Two clouds drift across slowly, and I sigh._

_The first seal is broken.  When did it break?  How many more seals have broken?_

_I will ask Zachariah when I return to Heaven—I am certain that he will make Dean Winchester_ my _charge, and if I am to properly assist him, I must be informed._

_A long road lies ahead._

* * *

“Leviathans, you say.  Well, Michael mentioned them, but he left out all the dirty details, I’m sure.  Do you know how to kill them?”

I shake my head.  “I do not know if it is possible for them to die by another’s hand.”

“Well, you’re an archangel.  Why don’t we find one of the slimy creatures and test you with it?”

I consider it.  I don’t want the Leviathans to know of my return—not yet.  It will help if I can surprise them.

“Let me guess.  You want to find the Winchesters first.”

I nod.  “But first, explain something to me.  Did Michael mention what he was doing all this time?  I raised Sam quite some time ago.  Why did he not stop me from opening Purgatory?”

Balthazar sighs.  “I don’t know.  If you hadn’t noticed, he and I didn’t exactly part on friendly terms.”

I wish I had thought up the question for Michael before he left.  I close my eyes.

“Scan for prayers,” I tell Balthazar.  “Perhaps if we’re lucky—”

And then I hear his voice and hone in.

_You feather-assed sons of bitches!  If you aren’t going to help us, at least bring Bobby back!  You put me and Sam back together enough times; why can’t you do it for him?_

“He sounds very drunk,” Balthazar observes.

Meanwhile, I search for Bobby Singer and come up blank.  “Bobby’s dead,” I report, sorrow welling up inside me.

I am still not so accustomed to _feeling_ , but every emotion reminds me of the man who started it all.

“Shall we, then?” Balthazar prompts.

I deliberate for a moment longer before nodding.  “Do not reveal yourself yet.  We should assess the situation before we act.”

Balthazar nods and shakes out his wings.  “Oh, how I’ve missed flying.”

* * *

_“Let me guess.  You’re here for the ‘I told you so.’”_

_“No.”_

_“Well good, ‘cause I’m really not that interested.”_

_“I’m not here to judge you, Dean.”_

_“Then why are you here?”_

_“Our orders—“_

_“Yeah, you know, I’ve had about enough of these orders of yours—”_

_“Our orders were not to stop the summoning of Samhain.  They were to do whatever you told us to do.”_

_“Your orders were to follow my orders?”_

_“It was a test, to see how you would perform under… battlefield conditions, you might say.”_

_“It was a witch, not the… Tet Offensive.”_

_I chuckle._

_“So I uh, failed your test, huh?  I get it.  But you know what?  If you were to wave that, that magic time-traveling wand of yours and we had to do it all over again, I’d make the same call.  ‘Cause see I don’t know what’s gonna happen when these seals are broken—hell, I don’t even know what’s gonna happen tomorrow.  But what I do know is, that this, here?  These kids, the swings, the trees, all of it is still here because of my brother and me.”_

_“You misunderstand me, Dean.  I’m not like you think—I was praying that you would choose to save the town.”_

_“You were?” he says, raising an eyebrow doubtfully._

_“These people… they’re all my father’s creations.  They’re works of art,” I say, leaning for and looking out at the playground.  “And yet, even though you stopped Samhain, the seal was broken, and we are one step closer to Hell on Earth for all creation.  Now that’s not an expression, Dean.  It’s literal.  You of all people should appreciate what that means.”_

_Dean looks at me, and I see the pain in his eyes.  There’s a strange feeling in my chest, and I turn my head away, trying to understand what it is._

_“Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?” I ask._

_“Okay.”_

_I look down.  “I’m not a… hammer, as you say.  I have questions, I… I have doubts.  I don’t know what is right and what is wrong anymore, whether you passed or failed here,” I say, glancing at him.  “But in the coming months, you will have more decisions to make.”_

_He looks me in the eyes, and I instinctively avert my gaze._

_“I don’t envy the weight that’s on your shoulders, Dean.  I truly don’t.”_

_I look back at him as I finish, only to find that his eyes are still on mine.  And I realize that I can’t turn away, even though something tells me that I should._

_This sudden helplessness terrifies me._

_He finally turns his head away from me to look out at the playground again, and I take the opportunity to flee._

_What’s happening to me?  I… I don’t understand._

_“Castiel.”_

_Uriel’s deep voice sounds right behind me, and I turn slowly to face him._

_“You are troubled.  Why?” he asks._

_I stare at him for a moment.  Would he understand?  Uriel has been my partner for a large number of years.  Even when Anna was still with us, he was already my partner.  Perhaps it is right to ask his opinion._

_“Humans… they_ feel _things.  What do you think of these feelings?”_

_He chuckles.  “Feelings?  Feelings are weaknesses.  Why do you think that we were placed in Heaven and these mud monkeys placed on Earth?  It is because they are weak with emotions.”_

_“You’re close to blasphemy.  Again.”_

_I’ve had to warn him too often these days, ever since we came into contact with humans.  He appears to dislike them greatly.  I might have been mistaken to ask his opinion._

_“Why are you asking me this, Castiel?” he says._

_What can I say?  That I have doubts?  That I question our orders?  That Dean Winchester has some strange effect on me?_

_It is not in my nature to lie.  I am a warrior, not a strategist.  I do not map out what I say.  I try to measure what effect my words will have, but in the end, I cannot choose the correct words.  I maintain a level stare at Uriel, waiting for him to drop the subject._

_Though I cannot lie, I have never lost a staring contest._

_Sure enough, he huffs a sigh and gestures toward the sky._

_“We should return.  Zachariah will want to hear of this new failure,” he says._

_Failure.  Is that really what it was?  I don’t know anymore._

_Uriel takes off without another word, and a moment later, I extend my wings and follow._


	2. The Masked Man

“Dean!  _Dean!_   Shut up and _stop it!_ ”

Sam grabs Dean’s fist before it can smash into the bark of the tree again, and Dean turns bloodshot eyes on him.

“Sammy,” he says, sounding more sober already.  “I thought you were sleeping.”

Sam’s expression is pained.  “Is this what you do when I’m asleep?  Get drunk and cuss out angels who may or may not be listening?”

Dean shoves his brother away and stumbles toward the motel.

Beside me, Balthazar heaves a sigh that only I can hear.  “So melodramatic, those two,” he comments with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

I ignore him and follow Sam and Dean as they go back into the motel.  Dean collapses onto the bed, still fully dressed, and Sam shakes his head.

“Dean, we need to talk.”

“Nothing to talk about,” Dean mutters.

“Actually, yes, there _is_ stuff we should be talking about.  And you’re not the only one who’s hurting.  Bobby was important to me, too.  And Cas was, too.”

“Who ever said anything about Cas?”

The venom in his voice when he says my name, the anger with which he spits those words out, causes pain to lance through my chest.  It is a sensation of which I am not particularly fond.

“Well, that’s sort of the point, Dean.  You need to talk about it.  About him,” Sam says.

“What is there to say?  The son of a bitch wouldn’t listen to me, and then… and then he went and _died_ before anything could get better.  And he left us to clean up his friggin’ mess.”

A hand rests on my shoulder, but I shrug it off.

“He doesn’t mean it,” Balthazar says.  “He’s grieving.  That’s what humans do.”

That knowledge still doesn’t take the bite out of his words, though.

“Let’s go,” I say.

Beside me, Balthazar shifts.  “You don’t want to speak to them?”

I shake my head.  “No.  Not yet.  Come.”

I take one last look at the back of Dean’s head and pray—bitterness surges up as that word crosses my mind, for without our Father, to whom can we pray?—for his understanding.

And then, reluctantly, I take flight.

* * *

A few hours later, I sit on a park bench, looking up at the sky.  It’s dark, and I can see the stars.  From Earth, they look so far away.  Up close, I know that they’re great masses of swirling debris—nothing like the beautiful creatures that Father has placed on Earth.  Why humans look up at the sky and the stars rather than at each other I do not understand.

Perhaps I am not meant to understand it.

I close my eyes and search the dream world, watching, waiting.

And then, finally…

“Dean,” I say.

I recognize the setting of this dream as Bobby’s house.  But Balthazar informed me that the house has already been burnt to the ground by the Leviathans.  Pity.  I could restore it, I suppose.

Then Dean turns around to face me, sighing heavily as he does so, and I am struck by how brightly his soul still shines, even through the flesh of his human body.  But the dream world allows souls to become more visible—that could be part of the reason.

“Cas,” he says resignedly.

“You don’t look happy to see me,” I observe.

He shakes his head.  “It’s always… You keep coming back.  I can’t do this, Cas.  I can’t.”

I frown.  Does he dream of me often?

Another sigh.  “That face.  You always make that face at me.  Stop it,” he growls.

I don’t understand.  What face am I making?  And why is it distasteful to him?

But before I can voice my questions, he takes a few steps toward me, a dark look on his face.  I blink once, watching to gauge his actions.  He comes even closer, and I remember the way he used to tell me about human concepts like personal space.  He doesn’t stop advancing until he’s right in front of me, inches from my face, but I still hold his gaze.  What… what is he doing?

“Damn it, Cas,” he mutters, and I can feel his breath against my lips as the words come out of his mouth.

He lifts a hand and curls it around the back of my neck.  Before I can process his intention, I feel the warm press of his lips against mine, see the way his long, dark eyelashes rest on his cheeks when his eyes are closed.

Dean backs off almost instantly and mutters, “Why’d you have to get yourself killed, you bastard?”

I open my mouth to answer, but he doesn’t seem to want a response—his mouth is back on mine, and this time his tongue delves into my mouth.  A tangled mass of emotions and sensations slams into me, and it takes me a moment to respond, press back, imitate his actions.  He lets out a muffled groan and pulls me closer to him, and it hits me that if he feels so comfortable with this, it might mean that he dreams of me this way, often.

Eventually the kiss turns slow, and Dean draws back.  His eyes glisten with unshed tears, and I realize that the last time I saw him so open and vulnerable was right after he discovered that he had been the one to break the first seal.  I would list the moment right after Sam dove into Lucifer’s cage as well, but he’d looked too closed-off.

“I am sorry, Dean,” I say.

My voice sounds deeper than what I am accustomed to, and I deduce that it must be my vessel’s response to Dean’s kiss.

He closes his eyes again and pushes his forehead against mine, holding onto me and breathing deeply.

“Cas… if you could just come back… I…” his voice breaks, and he runs his tongue over his lips once.  “I’d do anything.  Just don’t be dead anymore.  Could you do that for me?”

I open my mouth to respond, but my mind is blank.  His eyes crack open to look at me, and despite the tears still glistening in his eyes, I see that he is confused by my silence.  Perhaps the version of me in his dreams usually has a line here.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” I mumble.

The arm that’s around my waist slides upward, and then he’s cupping my cheek.  His thumb brushes at the corner of my eye and comes away wet.  I blink, surprised.  I wasn’t aware that we were able to cry, to produce tears of emotion.

“Well, this is new,” he says with a frown.  “I’ve never seen you cry before.  Can angels cry?”

I open my mouth to speak, but again he cuts me off.

“Of course you can’t,” he mutters.  “This is a fucking dream, and you’re just a part of my subconscious.  Fuck.”

I want more than anything to reassure him that this is not just a dream, that I’m really here, but I worry—no, _know_ —that he’ll push me away if I do.  He is broken because I am gone.  When I return, his anger will return as well and override this… whatever this is his subconscious has created between us.  And I cannot bring myself to face his anger again.  At least, not yet.

I never thought of myself as a coward, but Dean has always affected me in uniquely, made me do things I ordinarily would not do.

So instead of telling him the truth, telling him that I have been raised, I let him put his arms around me and crush me to his chest.  I close my eyes and savor the warmth, the possessiveness with which he holds onto me.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” I say again, because I don’t think I can say it enough times to fix this.

He tightens his hold on me.  “I don’t care how sorry you are, you son of a bitch.  I just want you back.”

He only says this because he believes that I cannot come back.  He is trying to comfort the part of his subconscious mind that is still hurt by my death.  I find that this thought hurts me immensely.

Then I detect a shift in the fabric of the dream and the arrival of a cloaked brother.

I stiffen, and Dean murmurs, “Cas, I got you.  Don’t worry, I got you.”

I indulge in the feeling of his arms around me for another moment before spreading my cloaked wings and folding myself into another plane.  Dean gasps as his arms close on nothing, and the despair on his face tears at me.  I don’t need to turn to know I was right about the arrival of one of my brothers.

“Cas… I don’t like the way that was going.”

“I know what I’m doing,” I say, still looking at Dean.  He looks so… lost.  Overwhelmed.  Alone.

“No.  No, you don’t,” Balthazar says, a touch gentler than I expected.  “Why haven’t you told him anything?” he asks me.

Dean sits down on the bed and buries his face in his hands.

I tear my eyes away and move to face my brother.  “I… don’t know.”

“You’re not ready to face him,” he says.  “Then don’t face him at all.  You can’t pop into his dreams like this.  It’ll mess with your head, _and_ his.”

“What would you have me do, then?”

“Stay away from him until you’re ready.”

I glance back at Dean regretfully, and Balthazar sighs heavily.

“I believe I now grasp the concept of so-called ‘puppy-dog eyes.’  Look—Cas, you do realize that there’s a possibility that he’ll just forgive you if you speak to him now, don’t you?”

I make no response, even though I can sense that Balthazar is getting impatient.

“Well, Michael chose to bring _me_ back for a reason,” he says.

I turn to him, intrigued, and detect another shift in the dream.  “This dream is about to end,” I say.  “We should relocate.”

Balthazar looks around at the hazy edges of the room and nods in agreement.  He flaps a few times before taking flight.  I flex my wings and follow.  A moment later, we land in the warehouse in which Michael resurrected me.

“Go on,” I tell Balthazar as I fold my wings behind me.  I’m still not accustomed to the power in these wings yet, and they feel clumsily large to me.

“As I was saying, Michael chose me for a reason.”

“Yes, of course.  He knew of our friendship.”

“And he knew I would know you well.  You just can’t leave Dean Winchester alone, but you can’t completely _leave_ him, either.”

Here Balthazar pauses to look at me, as though daring me to challenge his assessment.  But there is no reason for me to deny it when it’s true.

“I suggest that you find another vessel,” Balthazar finally says.

I frown.  “Why?”

“You can tell him that you are someone else, another one of our siblings.  You’ll be able to watch over him without having to deal with his… angst, toward you.”

I look down at my vessel.  “If I leave this body, it will die.”

Balthazar shrugs.  “So?”

“I… find myself rather attached to it.”

He sighs.  “Then stay in the vessel and modify your appearance.  You _are_ an archangel now, so you do have that capability.”

I hadn’t considered that.  It’s something I haven’t tried before because I never had the capability, but it can’t be too difficult.  I close my eyes and focus on the features that once made up Jimmy Novak.  It appears that Jimmy has gone on—this vessel is solely mine now.  I hope Michael accepted him into Heaven.  He was a good man.

I say a silent prayer for his soul before attempting to shift his features.  But I do not have a target image in mind.  I eventually choose Gabriel’s appearance, just to test it out.  When Balthazar starts laughing, I open my eyes.

“Cas, you’re going to have to choose someone they don’t recognize.”

“Yes, I know.  This was a test.”

Balthazar takes off and returns almost instantly with a mirror, holding it in front of me to show me my appearance.  I see the honey-brown locks of hair, longer than the dark hair on my original vessel.  My face appears narrower, longer, and my features have shifted accordingly to look just like the vessel Gabriel had taken… except for my eyes.

I frown and look carefully at them.

“Did you try to change those?” Balthazar asks.

I nod.  “I was attempting to create a complete imitation.”

I close my eyes and give it another try, focusing on the hazel-green of Gabriel’s eyes, but my eyes are still the same hue when I finish.

“It’s fine,” Balthazar says.  “I know the perfect look for you.”

He places two fingers on my forehead and projects an image of a human with dark, lightly curled hair just past shoulder length.  The overall body is smaller and the facial features softer than they were on my original vessel, and I realize something.

“That is the appearance of a woman,” I say.

“The Winchesters won’t expect it.”  Then he grins.  “I also want to see Dean’s face when he sees your eyes coming out of a woman’s face.  Care to wager whether he’ll be able to resist you?”

I level an even gaze at Balthazar that lets him know I am not amused.

He simply shrugs and takes a step back.  “Let’s see her,” he says.

I close my eyes and focus on my vessel again.

We angels were created without gender, so a switch would ordinarily make no difference to one of us.  But I have spent a small amount of time as… well _almost_ a human.  And this new form feels… different.  I suppose it is not disagreeable.

I open my eyes and have to tilt my head up slightly to meet Balthazar’s gaze.  “I’m short,” I mutter.

“Well that’s your own choice now, isn’t it?”

His gaze rakes over me appraisingly, but I just follow his eyes until they come back up to meet mine.

“We need better-fitting clothing for you,” he says, pressing his hand to my shoulder.

I hadn’t really thought about what I wore.  The clothing around me shrinks at his command until he is satisfied.

“I don’t suppose you’d give up that dirty trench coat, would you?”

I tilt my head at him slightly, narrowing my eyes.

“Very well.  I’ll at least make it more fashionable, then.”

“What use is fashion?  I am ready to go.”

“Ready?  Have you even thought about what you’re going to say to them?” he replies as he makes adjustments to the style of the coat.  “They’re going to ask about Bobby Singer, about the Leviathans, and then probably about you—”

“Me?  But they wouldn’t know that I’m me.”

“I mean _you_ , you, not… you.”  He shakes his head.  “That was a mess.  Let me try again.  I mean that they will want to ask you, as another angel, about Castiel.”

I nod.  “I will take it into consideration.”

Then I brush his hands away from me and stretch out my wings.

“Wait—where are you going?”

“While I am thinking of the answers to their questions, I would like to get some of my own questions answered.”

“Yes, but _where_ are you going?”

I smile grimly.  “Hell.”

* * *

_“Samhain was not supposed to rise,” Zachariah mutters._

_He’s clearly upset, but Uriel and I followed orders.  He cannot place the blame on us.  Honestly, I do not know who is to blame.  I feel that Dean did not do wrong in choosing to save the town._

_There it is again._ Feel _.  I should not_ feel _anything.  I resist the urge to cringe._

_“I want to kill the demon, Ruby,” Uriel says._

_In our surveillance of the brothers, she has been getting closer and closer to Sam Winchester.  While her intentions are not yet clear, we know that she is a demon.  She cannot be trusted, despite what Sam Winchester might think._

_“She is not to be touched,” Zachariah says._

_Uriel only looks down.  He will not speak up against his superior.  None of us would._

_Zachariah turns his attention to me.  “You… why did you speak to Dean Winchester after the task was over?”_

_I meet his gaze readily.  “He had doubts.  I wished to settle them.”_

_“And did you?”_

_I do not lie, so I reply with, “I’m not sure.”_

_He narrows his eyes before turning to Uriel.  “Leave us.”_

_Without a word, Uriel takes flight._

_“What is wrong, Castiel?” he asks._

_“Nothing.”  But I am not a liar.  “I just have some… insecurities.”_

_“Well, I am glad that you’re willing to tell me.  You are sympathetic toward the brothers.  Is that the problem?”_

_“I do not think it is a problem.”_

_I only realize after the words leave my mouth that they are impertinent.  But Zachariah doesn’t seem to notice.  Or if he does notice, he doesn’t take offense._

_“I think it is safer if you do not stay in too much contact with the Winchesters,” he says.  “Perhaps it would be better if we handed the matter over to—”_

_“I do not fear contact with the brothers,” I interrupt._

_For some reason, the thought of losing this assignment makes me feel… anxious.  Zachariah fixes a piercing gaze on me, and I wonder fleetingly if he can see my thoughts.  But I know for a fact that he cannot, for I have thought a few less-than-respectful things about him in the past, and he has never uncovered them._

_“Well, you certainly have done no wrong yet,” he says.  “I suppose we can keep you where you are.  But Uriel will take the lead in your future encounters with the Winchesters.  You should work on removing your sympathy for them.  They are just humans.”_

_I squint at him but bite back my response.  Just humans?  I was under the impression that humans were to be loved and cared for by all angels of the Lord, for they were—and are—his favorite creations.  It seems blasphemous for Zachariah to speak of them in such a way._

_“I will go now,” I announce._

_He nods, and I spread my wings to fly away._


	3. Please Allow Me to Introduce Myself

_I sit on the bench that I had occupied a few months ago, in the town where the rise of Samhain took place._

_So much has happened in so short a period of time._

_As I watch the children playing in the playground, I think about what Dean said to me when we were here.  If it weren’t for him and Sam, this place would be gone._

_This much is true.  Yet we_ are _closer to the Apocalypse than ever before.  The seals are still breaking, despite our best efforts, and I cannot understand why.  Are we, the Host of Heaven, not strong enough to hold down the locks on our own cage?  The demons may outnumber us, but we are more powerful than they.  How is it that we are still losing the battle?_

_Deep down, a part of me thinks that something is going terribly wrong.  And after what happened with Uriel… is it possible that other angels from other garrisons have turned as well?  Could they be letting the seals break intentionally?_

_The possibility is frightening._

_Even more disheartening is the fact that our one best hope has lost his faith.  The knowledge of his role in bringing about the Apocalypse was more damaging to Dean than I had expected.  I should have known better—I rebuilt him, reconstructed every inch of him.  I know him._

_I really should have known better._

_I recall the pain in his eyes, pain that had near nothing to do with the physical beating he’d taken from Alastair.  No, this was emotional.  Something that I was not supposed to sympathize with.  But I couldn’t stop myself.  I_ still _can’t stop myself.  I wish there were a way for me to take his pain away, but there is nothing I am allowed to do for him._

_I get to my feet and watch as a child launches himself off a swing and shouts excitedly to his friends, “I’m flying!  I’m flying!”_

_I wonder if he would be as excited to fly if he knew the true nature of flying.  I spread my wings and shift into another dimension.  Upon landing, I walk through a maze of cubicles and enter an elevator, cloaked.  The elevator is empty, but I do not show myself.  I am not authorized to check on Dean, but I just want to see him—I will not interfere.  I reach a room that says, “Dean Smith—Director, Sales & Marketing.”_

_After entering the room, I see Dean sitting at a desk.  But he is not the Dean that I know—his hair is neatly parted on the side and gelled in place, and the clothing he wears is certainly different from anything I’ve ever seen him wear.  And it irritates me, much more than it should.  I’m itching to fix this, to bring back my Dean._

_Then I freeze._

My _Dean?  I don’t even know where that came from._

_I look at the man behind the chair, the stranger who’s wearing Dean’s face as he eats a salad, drinks from a protein shake, and looks over a set of spreadsheets._

_Feeling disgusted, I turn away and take flight.  I can only hope that Dean will come back soon._

_As I return to Heaven, I get the sense that these thoughts should worry me much more than they actually do._

* * *

Hell looks… well, mostly the same.

Crowley has kept that endless line of souls, but I do not sense him nearby.  Instead of sneaking through silently, worrying about being seen, I clear my throat and let out my Voice, calling out one word.

“Crowley!”

The walls shake around me, and the souls waiting in line cry out in alarm, but they apparently cannot leave their positions.

Crowley doesn’t show himself, but neither do the hordes of demons that had attacked me the last time I ventured alone into Hell.  When I close my eyes and search for my target, I find his quarters at the lowest level, near Lucifer’s cage.  I dislike the idea of going back down there, but I need to speak to Crowley, and if he will not come to me, then I will go to him.

But before I can unfurl my wings, I feel the shifting of air that precedes his arrival.

“Well, hello there,” he says from behind me.  “Are you lost?  We don’t get many heavenly visitors these days.”

I don’t turn around to face him and speak with the voice of my modified vessel.  “Hello, Crowley.  I am honored that you would answer my call personally.”

I am not accustomed to the female voice that comes out of my mouth, but it is not unpleasant.

“Well I aim to please, and you did ask for me by name.  So, what can I do for you?”

“Nothing’s changed at all for you, has it?”

A brief pause.

Then he says, “I’m sorry—have we met?”

I turn around and fix my eyes on him.  “You tell me.”

He blinks a few times, clearly surprised.  “Castiel?  I thought you’d… well, I thought the Leviathans had turned you into lunch already.”

I don’t respond.

“What are you doing here?  You’re clearly not _God_ anymore—you can’t threaten me in my own playground.”

“No, but I thought we could help each other.”

His eyes widen almost imperceptibly.  “Like the last time?  Oh, I’d rather not have a repeat performance of _that_.”

I shake my head.  “All I want from you is information.  And a temporary truce.  In return, I’ll take on the Leviathan problem.”

“You’ll be doing that anyway, won’t you?”

“It will go much faster with knowledge about the enemy.”

Crowley considers it for a moment.  “You say you want information.  Do you mean…”

“Send some demons out.  Collect data on what the Leviathans are doing.  I already have some knowledge of them, as they took my vessel for a short period of time.”

“You want _me_ to gather information?  Get your angel friends to do it for you.”

“There is a reason why they are angels and you are demons.  They do not do well with reconnaissance.”

It should probably disturb me that I am referring to the angels, my brothers and sisters, as “they” rather than “we.”  But I don’t identify with them so much anymore.  I haven’t for a while.

A small smile spreads across the demon’s face.  “So, what’s in it for me?”

“You want the Leviathans gone.  I’ll make it happen.”

“I could turn you away, and you would try anyway.  So I’ll ask this again: what’s in it for little ol’ Crowley?”

I glare at him, then grasp his neck and pin him up to the nearest wall.  His attempt to throw me back nearly succeeds—we _are_ in his territory, after all—but I unfurl my wings, holding my ground.

His eyes widen as he gasps.  “You—your wings—”

“What’s in it for you, you ask.  Help me, and I’ll let you live.  Don’t, and I’ll smite you right here.  I’m sure Meg would love to take your place.  It’s your choice,” I say.  My voice doesn’t sound as threatening as it did when I was male, but my statement seems to have the desired effect on Crowley.

“I’ll help—I’ll help!” he wheezes.

I pull my hand back, and he drops to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall.

“You might have gotten smaller, but you’ve gotten stronger,” Crowley huffs.  “Tell me, why the change in appearance?  Vying for that denim-clad brat’s attention, are you?”

“That does not concern you.  We have an accord.  If you betray me, I will kill you.”

“Yes, yes, I got that the first time.”

It still surprises me how quickly the demon can go from being terrified, on the brink of death, to bored and impatient.

“Goodbye, Crowley,” I say, turning away.

“Just one last thing.”

I turn back to look at him.

“Do the Winchesters even know you’ve returned?”

I may be better at lying than before, but I am still too transparent.  It’d be pointless to attempt to hide the truth from this slippery demon.

“Ah,” Crowley says.  “So you _haven’t_ told them.  Is that why you’ve transformed from an ugly duckling into a swan?  In _their_ eyes, at least.  Personally, I thought the other meatsuit looked better on you.”

I squint at him.

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.  You know _exactly_ what I’m getting at, Cas.”

“I’m leaving.  Do not anger me.  I do not see any benefit for you in doing so.”

“Do you think they’ll accept your help?  Even after you betrayed their trust?”

I glare at him for a long moment before clipping him in the head, hard, with one great wing.  I’m still a little surprised by its size, but at the moment I’m glad for it.

Before he can get back up, I take off.

* * *

_Zachariah is furious.  Fuming.  He just returned from meeting with Raphael directly.  If he’s angry, then Raphael must have given him a serious warning.  That bodes well for the Winchesters—for Dean—but not so much for me._

_My superior rounds on me, proverbial steam coming out of his ears, and I prepare myself for the tirade that’s sure to begin as soon as he collects himself enough to speak in a halfway-civilized manner.  But instead of a rant, when Zachariah finally opens his mouth, it’s to ask a loaded question._

_“You met with Dean Winchester just before this mess.  What did you do?”_

_I frown at him.  “I did not do anything.  I could not interfere.”  Then, reciting the words about prophets that I recently used on Dean, I say, “What the prophet has written can’t be unwritten.  As he has seen it, so it shall come to pass.”_

_Zachariah glares at me.  “The prophet was not supposed to be in the same room as Lilith.  Dean Winchester could not have known of the prophet’s protection without having been informed.”_

_I just watch him calmly, not allowing him to stare me down._

_“Castiel, what did you do?”_

_My eyes flash at him a bit as anger crosses through me.  “My conscience is clear.”_

_“We aren’t supposed to have consciences, Castiel.  If you interfered—”_

_“I did not do anything.  I do not lie.  You should know that after so many millennia of passing orders down to me.”_

_A dangerous gleam flickers in Zachariah’s eyes, but still I do not back down._

_And the questions start sounding off in my head.  What am I doing?  When did Zachariah become an opponent, someone from whom I am now attempting to hide a white lie?  But is it still a white lie if it caused as much trouble as it did for Raphael and, by extension, Zachariah?_

_I have difficulty telling what is wrong from what is just.  I used to have such conviction._

_But Uriel betrayed us and killed our kind in an attempt to bring on the Apocalypse.  Dean chose to save a town of innocent people, but in the process, we lost a seal on Lucifer’s cage.  Anna Fell and should have been taken or killed, yet Dean was so adamant that she be protected.  And when Uriel turned against me, his partner for so many millennia, Anna was the one who appeared and delivered me._

_Who is right?  Whose side am I really on?_

_Yet even as these questions go through my head, some instinctive part of me knows the answer.  It’s the part that was inexplicably drawn toward that pristine soul in the depths of Hell, the part of me that took extra care in removing each and every blemish that marked the receptacle for the pure soul in my protection._

_I was made to serve God, yet I care so much for this single man.  Perhaps that is what makes me different._

_Then I realize that I have been staring blankly back at Zachariah for some time, but I don’t bother to change my expression.  He’s started to look uncomfortable already, and I am fully capable of keeping our gazes locked for any length of time._

_“This is your final warning,” Zachariah finally says.  “If I discover anything fishy—anything at all—you will be disciplined.  Understand?”_

_I nod once._

_“Now get out of my sight.”_

_I am only too happy to oblige._

* * *

When I arrive, hidden, at the motel room, Sam and Dean appear to be packing to leave.

“Are we gonna talk about this, Dean?”

“Talk about what?”

Sam sighs.  “About last night.  About your drinking.  About Bobby and Cas.”

Dean looks at him.  “Not talking about it.  If you want to share feelings, go talk to a girl.”

The concern in Sam’s eyes morphs into anger, and I wonder whether it would be a bad idea to show myself now.  Meanwhile, Dean finishes throwing things into his bag.

“Dean, look at me,” Sam says.

Dean strides toward the exit.

“ _Dean_.”

Sam’s voice is louder this time, filled with barely contained anger, and Dean turns around to look at his brother.

“You are _not_ the only one in pain here.  I’ve also lost them.  The world doesn’t revolve around you and your pain, despite what you might think.”

“Sammy—”

“No, just let me get this out.  You have been a monumental pain in the ass for the last few weeks, even before we lost Bobby.  I know this is about Cas, Dean.  And I’m willing to try and help you through it, but… you’re going to have to _talk_ about it if you want it to get better.  Every time you try to ignore these things, you just end up with a wound that festers and, and gets worse and worse.  I don’t want you exploding on me one day.”

Dean turns away again.  “You done yet?  We should get going.”

Sam heaves a sigh.  “Fine.  When your head implodes, don’t tell me I didn’t try.”

I manifest myself in front of the motel door before Dean can reach it, and he leaps backward with a surprised yelp.  If I were in less control of my actions, I would be smiling in amusement.

“Hello, Dean, Sam,” I say.

“What the hell?” Dean says.

I notice that both brothers have drawn weapons—Dean has the demon knife, and Sam wields an angel blade.  It takes me a moment to recognize that it’s _my_ blade.

“Who are you?” Sam asks.

“My name is Camael.  I am an angel of the Lord,” I reply.

Dean narrows his eyes at me.  “No freaking way.”

I frown.  “You have met my brothers and sisters before.  Why do you not believe me?”

“Oh, are we supposed to believe that you’re an angel just because you said so?”

I look at them patiently.  “I have no reason to lie to you.  But I see that you will not trust me unless you test me,” I say.  Then I spread my arms out to either side.  “Do your worst.”

Dean looks at me with well-concealed unease, but I’ve known him long enough to see the indicators.  His mouth is set in a hard line, and his jaw twitches slightly.  But it’s not anger that’s forcing his jaw to clench—I can see in his eyes that he’s wary, doubtful, but not angry.  For some reason, I find this observation comforting.

Then he’s standing by my arm, holding the demon knife, and I watch him expectantly.

“Stop staring at me,” he says.

“I apologize,” I reply.

Balthazar’s words echo in my mind, and I can’t help but wonder what Dean thinks, whether he’s recognized my eyes or not.

He wraps a hand around my wrist, holding on more tightly than necessary, as though he’s worried that I’m going to resist, and slides the knife across my flesh.  It tingles, but the pain is dull, and I instantly make the wound fade away.

“Okay,” he says, releasing a shaky breath.  “Sam.”

I frown.  Are they really going to use the blade on me?  That will actually injure me.

“We already know it’s not a demon,” Sam says.  “And I doubt a Leviathan would be standing here for so long without attacking us—at least verbally, if not physically.”

Dean seems to realize just then that I could be a Leviathan, and he backpedals rapidly.

“I am not a Leviathan,” I say.

Dean snatches the blade—my blade—from Sam and comes toward me again.

“Dude, we can just use Borax on it—her,” Sam says.  “If she’s really an angel, do you really think we should be hurting her?”

Dean ignores his brother and continues to approach me, this time seemingly trying to stare me down.  I meet his eyes calmly.  The only pair of eyes from which I’ve had to shy away is the one that is currently fixed on mine.  But this time, I’m not weighed down by a guilty conscience, and I can return the stare evenly.

He lifts the blade and presses it to my chest, just above my sternum.

“Do you want to kill me, Dean?” I ask quietly.

Unbeknownst to him, I’ve unfurled my unwieldy wings and am prepared to shift out of this dimension if need be.  But I can’t believe that he would truly try to kill me, even if he doesn’t know who I am yet.  His eyes harden for a moment, still boring into mine, and it’s impossible that he hasn’t recognized my eyes yet.

“No,” he finally says.

He presses the blade downward just slightly, and I feel it go through the layers of clothing, nicking the skin of my vessel.  I gasp, and Sam immediately steps forward, yanking Dean backwards.

“ _Hey_ —I wasn’t going to kill her!” Dean protests.

A thin ray of light from my Grace is shining from the small puncture wound, and I clasp a hand over it, resisting the urge to cry out.  Angel blades _burn_.

“Are you satisfied now?” I ask tightly.

Dean nods begrudgingly but doesn’t put the blade down.  “So you’re an angel.  What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, we haven’t seen any angels since… well since—”

“Since Castiel died,” I finish for him as I heal the skin of my vessel.  It was only a nick, not serious enough that I couldn’t fix it.

Dean flinches visibly at my words.  “He’s really gone, then?  He’s not just dicking around in Heaven?”

Anger flashes through me, and before I can control myself, I’m stepping closer to Dean.  His grip tightens on the blade, and although I’m fairly certain that he won’t use it on me, I hate that he does not trust me.  The feeling is irrational, yet unreasonably strong, and I cannot stop the words from leaving my mouth.

“Is that what you think of him?  That he would willingly abandon you, force you to deal with the Leviathans without assistance?  Do you really think so low of your own friend?  Or has he already fallen so far in your eyes that he’s lost the right to be called a friend of yours?”

Dean blinks a few times.  “Wow.  You feel strongly about that, don’t you?  Who was Cas to you?”

“My brother and friend,” I lie, finally reining myself in.

I have a difficult time looking away from Dean, but I manage it.  Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have noticed.

Then Sam speaks.  “Uh… Camael, was it?”

I nod.

“You didn’t answer our question.  What are you doing here?”

I look at the tall man.  Now that I’m in a smaller woman’s body, Sam looks larger than ever.

“I am here to offer assistance against the Leviathans,” I report.

“Oh.  Great,” Sam says.  “Do you know—”

“No, I know of no way to kill them.  I do not know if it is possible for them to be killed by any of us—the only way for them to die, as far as I know, is for them to be killed—precisely, _eaten_ —by others of their own kind.”

“Awesome,” Dean says.

I’d almost missed his sarcasm.

“What do you know about them, then?” Sam asks.

“I believe there may be a way to banish them back to Purgatory.”

“How do we do that?” Sam asks.

“I’m working on it,” I reply.

“Freakin’ fantastic.  You got anything _useful_ for us, feathers?” Dean says.

I turn to him, meeting his eyes, letting discontent show.  “Dean.  Are you going to be so openly antagonistic toward me simply because of what I am?  You always referred to angels as ‘dicks’ because of their disdain for humanity.  How is your own behavior any better than theirs?”

He stares at me.  “How did you know—”

“Did you think that we angels never spoke to one another?  I was a member of Castiel’s garrison and fought alongside him in the war against Raphael.  He shared stories with me and some of the others.”

“Camael, have you seen Bobby?” Sam asks, clearly trying to change the subject.

“Bobby?” I say, pretending not to know to whom they are referring.

“Bobby Singer,” Dean clarifies.

After a pause, I say, “I imagine he would be in Heaven.  But no, I have not seen him.”

Sam sighs.  “Is there any way you can get in contact with him?  He gave us a set of numbers and we still haven’t figured out what they stand for.”

I nod.  “I can search for him if need be.  Give me the numbers.”

“Four, five, four, eight, nine.”

“I will do my best.”

Sam smiles.  “Thanks.  Oh, and by the way, we found out that Leviathans are burned by Borax.”

“It’s like holy water, but for Leviathans,” Dean adds.

“I am aware,” I say.  “Are you aware that removing their heads will temporarily incapacitate them?”

Sam nods.  “Bobby figured that out for us.  Apparently we have to keep the head and body apart, or they’ll just reattach and come back to life again.”

“Yes.  Regeneration is a simple trick for them.  They are older than any of the angels.”  I pause for a moment.  Then I say, “I wanted to stop here and tell you that Heaven has not abandoned you.  You two made many sacrifices, and we know how much—”

“Cut the crap, angel.  We don’t need your pity,” Dean interrupts.

“My name is Camael.  And were you not the one who called for our assistance last night?  Do not scorn us.  I do not _need_ to be here.”

Dean’s cheeks flush slightly, but he doesn’t respond.  I stretch my wings out—invisible to the brothers—and shift into the other dimension.

“Good job, Dean,” Sam says.

“What?”

“An angel finally shows her face to help, and you immediately manage to piss her off.  Can’t you just keep your damn mouth shut?”

“When have you ever known me to keep my mouth shut, Sammy?”

Sam just sighs wearily.  “Dean, if she shows up again, can you not piss her off?  We could use her help.  We don’t have Cas or Bobby anymore, so—”

“Fine, fine, I’ll be civil,” Dean grumbles.  “Now let’s go.  We’ve wasted plenty of time here already.”

They leave their motel room, and I follow them silently to the car, realizing that this is not Dean’s baby.  What happened to it—her?

“Sam…” Dean says as they load the trunk.  His brow is furrowed, and I wonder what’s on his mind.  “Do you think angels are all related to each other equally, or do you think some are more closely related than others?”

Sam closes the trunk as Dean circles around to the driver’s side.  “You noticed, too?” Sam asks as he gets into the passenger seat.

I shift into the backseat of the car to continue listening to the conversation.

“It wasn’t just me, then,” Dean says.

Sam nods.  “Her eyes looked just like Cas’s.  And she even dresses like him—that coat is the same color.  I was wondering whether you would bring that up or not.”

“Well, what do you think?”

Sam shrugs.  “Um, I don’t know, Dean.  She did talk like she was close to him.  Why don’t you just ask her, next time?”

Dean shifts uncomfortably and starts the car.  “I’ll think about it.”

As the car pulls out of its parking space, I depart, this time heading up.

I have someone to find.


	4. The Great Gig in the Sky

_I pace back and forth across the lush green lawn in the realm of an autistic man who drowned in a bathtub in 1953._

_I’ve just received new orders—disturbing orders._

_The seals are falling faster, the Apocalypse is nearer than ever, and we have been given orders to stand down.  Lucifer will rise, and Hell will rise with him._

_And we have been commanded to step back and let it happen._

_As for Dean… his fate is not truly to stop the Apocalypse.  No, that was a ruse to keep him fighting.  The long-foretold battle that we had anticipated for so long, the final battle between Michael and Lucifer, is not to be stopped._

_Dean is to become Michael’s vessel._

_I swallow hard as I turn and continue to pace.  What am I to do?  I was created to do God’s will.  I cannot simply disobey._

_The world I do not care so much about.  While God’s creations are beautiful, the pain and suffering that humans go through will end with the Apocalypse.  That I do not mind so much.  Giving away the life and freedom of Dean, though… I cannot bear the thought of looking at his face and seeing Michael’s Grace, his huge—legendarily so, as I have never seen them myself—golden wings behind him._

_Still, I cannot disobey.  To do so would be to turn against Father, against everything I’ve ever known.  And as much as Dean matters to me, he cannot be more important than God… he can’t._

_I pause as my surroundings shift, and then one of my brothers lands behind me.  I turn to face him._

_“Balthazar.”_

_“Castiel,” he says.  “It’s strange, being on the battlefield without you.  Although I can’t say that I’m terribly sorry to hear about Uriel’s demise.”_

_“He was still my partner.”_

_“Yes, yes, I know.  Surprising it was, that he would try to free Lucifer.  But then again, perhaps it wasn’t so surprising.  I always knew something was wrong with him.”_

_“We are not supposed to show preference between brothers, Balthazar.  We are all our Father’s children.”_

_“Of course,” he responds dismissively.  “That’s why you seek my company more often than any other’s.  Now tell me, brother, what’s vexing you?”_

_I glance at him before looking down and away._

_“That bad, hmm?  I assume it’ll get you into a lot of trouble, then.”_

_I nod._

_“Well, as much as I do like a healthy bit of havoc, I don’t like to picture what they’ll do to you for disobedience if you’re caught, Castiel.”_

_“I understand,” I say.  He’s encouraging me to go ahead but warning me not to get caught.  “Thank you, Balthazar.”_

_He nods and smirks at me.  “I have to report to Zachariah now—just stopped here, on the way.”_

_“Go on, then.”_

_He takes his leave, and I make up my mind.  If I cannot change anything, the least I can do for Dean is warn him of what’s coming…_

* * *

_“We need to talk.”_

_Dean stiffens briefly but returns to gazing out at the lake.  “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”_

_“It’s not safe here,” I say.  “Someplace more private.”_

_“More private?  We’re inside my head.”_

_“Exactly.  Someone could be listening.”_

_My brothers are sneaky when they mean to be, and if Zachariah is as concerned with this as he’s said he is, then he will be watching Sam and Dean as often as possible._

_“Cas, what’s wrong?” Dean asks._

_“Meet me here,” I say, passing him a slip of paper without really looking at him—I’m still watching for any sign of my brothers or sisters.  “Go now,” I tell him._

_Without waiting for a response, I take flight, leaving the dream world for the real one.  I have a terrible feeling about this.  His dream was too quiet, too stable.  I hadn’t tried to stabilize it, worried that it would make my presence known.  Now I wonder if someone else was there.  Someone who was powerful enough to mask his own presence from me._

_Someone like Zachariah._

_Please,_ please _let Dean arrive soon._

_But it hasn’t been five minutes yet when I hear the beating of wings, sense the shifting as my brothers begin to descend around me._

_Barachiel is the first to show his face.  Then Haniel and Ramiel appear.  I back away from the three but immediately hear the descent of a fourth brother, one who is in my own garrison.  I turn around slowly, regretfully, as I recognize his presence._

_“Castiel,” he says softly._

_“Balthazar,” I reply._

_“If I’d known better, I would have advised you not to come.”_

_I watch him unblinkingly.  “This is not your fault,” I tell him firmly._

_Then I turn to face the others and see that they’ve drawn their blades._

_“Brothers,” I say, “I do not want to hurt you.”_

_Barachiel scoffs.  “Do you really think you’ll be able to hurt us?  You may be a warrior, but you are alone.  There are four of us, and not one of us is new to battle.”_

_“Barachiel, calm yourself.  We do not need to fight,” Ramiel says.  “There is hope yet.”_

_“We do not have time to talk,” Barachiel says.  “The Winchesters are on their way.”_

_I sense their approach, but they’re still too far away.  I watch my advancing brothers warily before rapidly shifting out of this plane and sliding back in right behind Balthazar, holding a blade to his throat before he has time to react._

_Or perhaps he knew I was coming and delayed his reaction time to help me.  After several millennia of fighting side-by-side, it would not be difficult for him to predict my actions._

_“You would not really kill one of our kind, would you?” Ramiel says calmly._

_I don’t miss the fact that his grip on his blade has tightened considerably._

_“Their garrison has already turned out one traitor—it isn’t surprising that they’d have another.  Castiel, I heard that you were horrified by Uriel’s betrayal.  Was that all an act?” Barachiel asks._

_“Drop your blades,” I say, eyes flitting between the three of them warily._

_While Barachiel and Ramiel have been doing most of the talking, I know that Haniel is the most powerful of the three.  Both Barachiel and Ramiel would defer to him.  In fact, they’re both watching him at this very moment, so I lock eyes with him and wait for his decision._

_“Balthazar, are you really such a willing captive?” Haniel finally says._

_It is true that we angels are not masters of deceit.  Balthazar hasn’t moved an inch since I pressed the blade to his throat, and while that may be seen as prudence, it is also a sign of compliance._

_I can sense the Impala drawing nearer, but it’s still not close enough—still more than three miles left to go.  I wish I had chosen a closer location to the motel at which the brothers had been staying, but it is too late for that now._

_“Balthazar!” Haniel says sharply.  “Obey your orders, or be punished as well!”_

_I cannot allow him to be punished for me.  I push him away with a great amount of force, and he allows me to slam him into Barachiel.  I take two large steps toward Ramiel and dodge his blade as it comes toward me, slamming the hilt of my own blade against the back of his head to knock him out.  He drops to the ground, but Haniel is already right in front of me, and I see the blade coming for my chest only an instant before it pierces my vessel._

_I cry out in pain, but Haniel draws the blade out quickly and claps a thick, solid gold collar around my neck.  He smirks triumphantly and tugs once, hard.  My vessel is thrown back, and I’m drawn out, shorting all the circuits in the building._

_We ascend toward Heaven._

* * *

Angel or not, it is difficult to locate souls in Heaven.  One would think it’d be easy to navigate familiar territory, but there are billions of different realms, each housing only one or two, or maybe even three people.  Singling out one soul among billions is taxing.

But now that I’m an archangel, I find it marvelously simple to locate Bobby Singer.  It instantly becomes clear, however, that he is not in his own realm.  This confuses me, for souls rarely can travel through Heaven without being ferried by angels, and I sense no angelic presence anywhere near my target.

Putting aside my questions, I spread my wings and fly to my destination.

I land in front of a bar that is called “Harvelle’s Roadhouse.”  Harvelle.  Jo and Ellen?  Is this their realm, then?  I don’t sense their souls nearby—after spending some time with them, I have some affinity for their souls and would recognize them at such a short distance.

Frowning, I enter and see a small man behind the counter with a strange hairstyle and a wide smile.  Sitting across from him is none other than Bobby Singer, exactly as I remembered him.

“Who are you?” Bobby asks, and I remember that I have altered my appearance.

The other man frowns and taps something on a keyboard, and I move toward the pair, trying to identify this man.  “Ash” is all I can get for a name.  Digging deeper, I discover that his name is Ashley Van Rossington.

“She’s an archangel,” Ashley Van Rossington reports.

Bobby frowns at me.  “That’s… impossible.  Michael and Lucifer are in the cage, the boys said Lucifer killed Gabriel, and I was there when Raphael was destroyed.  There aren’t any archangels left.”

“That’s the reading I’m getting on her,” Ashley says, also turning his attention to me.  “Say somethin’,” he prompts.  “Who are you?”

This leaves me with a choice to make.  Do I try to earn Bobby’s trust as Camael?  Or should I reveal my true identity and hope that he is in a forgiving mood?

“You _can_ talk, can’t you?” Bobby asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” I say.  I am still not accustomed to this female voice coming out of my mouth.

“All right, then, let’s try this again.  Who are you?” Bobby asks.

“I am Camael,” I say.  “And you are Robert Singer and Ashley Van Rossington.”

Bobby laughs.  “Ashley, eh?  No wonder you want to be called Ash.”

“Yeah, sure, laugh it up,” Ashley says.  “What can I do for you, Camael?”

“Actually, I was hoping to speak with Robert.”

Bobby eyes me warily.

“Would you like to return to your own realm?” I offer, extending a hand in his direction.

“No.  We can talk right here.  What do you want from me?”

“I am here on behalf of Sam and Dean Winchester.”

Bobby immediately looks more interested.  “And why would an archangel—if you really _are_ an archangel—be interested in those two boys?”

“Michael and Lucifer were interested in them.  Raphael and Gabriel were as well.  Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Well,” he says, “what have those two idjits done this time?  Did they get any more of their friends killed?”

I frown.  “They do not—”

“Yes, they do.  They get people killed all the time.  Hell, Ash is dead ‘cause of them.  And Jo, and Ellen, and Pamela, and—”

“You cannot blame them,” I interrupt heatedly.  “You, of all people, should know how much each death affected them.  Yours especially.”

“Oh, should I?”

His nonchalant attitude infuriates me.  “You’ve been their mentor for years.  You taught them so much and stood by them.  How can you speak ill of them?”

“They got me _killed!_   I can be as bitter as I goddamn wanna be.  And you have that right too.”

I glare at him, and it’s a credit to the unshakable Bobby Singer that he doesn’t quail under the intensity of my gaze.

“I would never blame them for any of my deaths, and I would die again for them without hesitation.”

The deep crease in Bobby’s brow eases, and I feel satisfied in silencing him.

But then he starts grinning, and I frown.  Have I missed something?

“Hello to you too, Cas,” he says.

“How did you…”

My words trail off as I realize, far too late, that his words were chosen intentionally, to get that specific reaction from me.  It must be easier for human souls to perceive my true identity; human eyes would not have been able to tell.

“I never fully grasped the concept of lying to get a result,” I admit.

“It’s effective,” Bobby says, hauling himself to his feet.  “How are you alive?  The Leviathans said you were gone, and we saw you go into that lake.  Did they only kill your vessel?”

“No, they killed me.  I was brought back.”

“By?”

I nod at Ashley.  “Ask him.”

Ashley shrugs.  “I may have just run a check and noticed that there are currently two archangels in Heaven, not just one.”

Bobby looks back at me.  “You’re really an archangel, Cas?  How did that happen?  Who’s the other one?”

“It was Michael,” I say.  “He raised me in return for allowing him to escape from the cage when I rescued Sam.”

“But… Lucifer—”

“He could not follow.  He remains in the cage.”

Bobby nods.

“So I was under the impression that ‘Cas’ was a man,” Ashley says.

“Angels do not have gender, Ashley,” I respond.

Ashley winces.  “Call me Ash, all right?  Or Mr. Badass.  I won’t answer to Ashley.”

I nod.  “Ash.”

“Why _are_ you a woman now, Cas?  Are you worried about facing the boys?” Bobby asks.

“I do not think Dean will accept my help if he learns that I am alive.”

Bobby shakes his head.  “You idjit.  Don’t you think he’ll be angrier when he finds out that you’ve been lyin’ to him about who you are?”

“He is angry with me already.”

“Yes, but you can’t lie to him, Cas.  It won’t fix anything, and you’ll just piss him off more.”

“Then he won’t have to know.”

“What, are you going to be Camael forever, then?”

“It won’t be forever.  Dean is human.  He won’t live forever.”

The realization that Dean is mortal hurts more than I thought it would.

Bobby glares at me.  “I always pegged you for an idjit.  Never thought you’d be a goddamn coward though, Cas.  You would die for Dean, but you don’t even have the guts to show your face to ‘im?”

“Don’t call me a coward.”

“Isn’t that what you are?”

“Careful, Bobby.  She—he—she— _it_ is an archangel,” Ash says.

I am almost amused by the confusion that my gender has apparently caused him.

“I don’t give a damn what he is,” Bobby says, responding to Ash even though he’s looking at me.  “He’s still Cas, and he’s still bein’ a coward.”

Even in death, Bobby is fearless.  I respect him.

“Enough,” I say.  “I did not come here to argue with you about my identity.”

“Then why _are_ you here?”

“You gave Sam and Dean a number.  They have not yet discovered what it means.  Could you explain?”

Bobby suddenly gets a look on his face that almost seems hopeful.  “You’re an archangel, right?”

I nod slowly.  “We have gone over this.”

Then, to prove it, I allow my wings to manifest themselves and then spread them as wide as they can get.  The bar has plenty of open space, and I have enough room to fully extend them—at least, for the size that they are in this plane.  They are far more colossal in my true form.

Both souls look at the massive wings, temporarily speechless.

“Goddamn,” Ash finally says.  “I’ve met a few angels here and there, and I’ve convinced them to show their wings, but… god _damn_ , I’ve never seen any like yours.”

“Then you haven’t met another archangel.”

“So… before I tell you the deal with those numbers, could you tell me how that happened?” Bobby asks, gesturing toward my wings.

“Michael gave me the powers of an archangel as part of his gratitude, and because he wants me to clean up my mess.”

“The Leviathans, you mean.”

I nod.

“Balls.  That’s going to be difficult.”

“I did not think it would be easy,” I answer.

Then I notice Ash approaching my right wing and draw them back in quickly before masking them again.

“Sheesh, touchy,” he says, walking over to stand beside me.  He waves his hand around in the space behind me.

“You will not be able to touch my wings unless I allow you to, Ash,” I inform him.

“Well, maybe I can warm you up to the idea.  Other angels have told me that having their wings stroked was very pleasurable.”

“Ash, tell me you’re not tryin’ to hit on Cas.”

“What?  Why not?  She’s a beautiful woman.”

“Thank you, Ash.”

“Cas, ignore that boy.  Do you want to hear about the Leviathans or not?”

My attention instantly turns to the old man, and Ash rolls his eyes as he goes back to his station at the bar.

“If you want me to tell you everything, I have one condition.”

“What is it?”

“Bring me back to life.”

* * *

_Pain erupts all throughout my being as the blade plunges into my Grace._

_I’ve been removed from my vessel, ensnared, brought back to Heaven as a prisoner._

_Raphael sneers at me as he tugs the blade back out and shoves it back in.  I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve reached the brink of death.  Each time, Raphael heals me just before the blackness creeping at the edges of my consciousness can complete its task._

_“Who do you serve?” Raphael hisses._

_I don’t respond.  I know the answer that he wishes to hear, but I cannot lie.  I don’t know anymore._

_“Fine,” Raphael says.  “It’s much more fun for me when you do not give in immediately, anyway.”_

_He forces my wings to manifest themselves, and I strain against the gold that holds me in place.  He tuts as though he’s speaking to a disobedient child, and then he starts pulling my feathers out roughly.  I resist crying out for all of about two minutes._

_The screams don’t stop after that.  Not until Raphael has stripped my wings down to large, fleshy, bloody membranes, twitching limply behind me._

_“Well, Castiel?  It’s been several hours, much longer than the average.  If I go on any longer, I may have no choice but to kill you.  Who do you serve?”_

_Before I can respond, I hear a prayer addressed specifically to me._

Castiel, you son of a bitch!  You promised me my family would be okay.  You promised you were gonna take care of them.  I gave you everything you asked me to give—I gave you _more!_   This is the thanks I get?  This is what you do?  This is your heaven?  Help me, please!  You _promised_ , Cas!  Just help me.

_I cannot respond to his prayer.  When I look at Raphael again, I know that he has heard it as well._

_“I did promise,” I manage to say in an even voice.  “Will you compromise a pious man’s faith in God?”_

_Raphael nearly growls at me.  “Who do you serve?” he repeats instead._

_When I don’t answer, he sighs and pulls the blade out of me, waving a hand to fix my wings.  They’re beyond sore, but I’m just grateful that they’re whole again.  Then the blade slides back into my Grace, and I can’t take it anymore._

_“I serve Heaven!  I serve Heaven!” I finally gasp, and as the words come out of me, they become truth._

_He pulls the blade out, only to sheath it inside me again._

_“Who?  I didn’t hear you clearly.”_

_“Heaven,” I grit out._

_“Enough, Brother.”_

_It’s Michael’s Voice.  All of us have heard it, but very few have seen him.  I am not one of the lucky few._

_Raphael pulls the blade back out reluctantly, and my torn Grace is mended, nudged back together again._

_“Go,” Michael says.  “Keep your promise.  Return when you are finished.  There is still work for you.”_

_The gold that restrains me disappears, and I turn a blank gaze upon Raphael.  He points out the exit, and I stretch my painfully sore wings to head for Earth._

_Not ten seconds later, I am conversing with Claire Novak in her head._

_“Why… Why… Who are you?  Why is this happening?” she asks me._

_“I can save your mother, your father, and you.  I just need you to say yes.”_

_“But… but I…”_

_A gunshot goes off._

_“Hurry.  They’ll be coming for you soon.  It may be too late for your father now, but your mother—”_

_“T-t-too late?”_

_“Claire!  Yes or no?”_

_“Yes!”_

_I instantly feed my Grace into her body, and just as a pipe swings down toward my head, I open my eyes and catch it.  The demon wielding the weapon has an instant to be startled before I press my palm to his forehead, smiting him._

_“Castiel.”_

_I glance at Jimmy, my former vessel.  The gunshot wound to his stomach is fatal.  There is nothing to be done for him.  He is finished._

_I engage another demon and smite him, then look around for another in time to see Sam drinking blood from a demon.  The sight is sickening, and I can’t help but think that doing something so wicked certainly qualifies him as a candidate for being Lucifer’s vessel._

_Then he kills the demon from which he’d been drinking, turns around, and exorcises the demon from Amelia Novak’s body._

_Uninterested, I return to my previous vessel and kneel beside him._

_“Of course we keep our promises,” I say in Claire Novak’s small voice.  “Of course you have our gratitude.  You served us well.  Your work is done.  It’s time to go home now.  Your real home.  You’ll rest forever in the fields of the Lord.  Rest now, Jimmy.”_

_“No,” he says.  “Claire?”_

_“She’s with me, now.  She’s chosen.  It’s in her blood, as it was in yours,” I explain._

_“Please, Castiel.  Me, just take me.  Take me, please,” Jimmy begs._

_“I want to make sure you understand.  You won’t die, or age.  If this last year was painful for you, picture a hundred, a thousand more like it.”_

_“It doesn’t—it doesn’t matter.  You take me.  Just take me,” he grinds out._

_“As you wish.”_

_I reach out to touch Jimmy’s face, transferring my Grace from Claire Novak to my former vessel.  It feels strangely like… I believe humans would describe it as coming home._

_I get to my feet and walk toward the exit.  Amelia Novak pauses, looking at me, before running to pull her daughter into her arms.  I pause beside Sam and Dean, turning back to get another look at the family for Jimmy’s sake.  He will most likely never see them again._

_Then I turn to leave._

_“Cas, hold up,” Dean says, stopping me._

_I turn back to face him._

_“What were you gonna tell me?” he asks._

_I remember the feeling of wanting to protect Dean, the impulse to warn him of his future.  It seems dulled now, covered over by memories of pain that make me want to scream anew._

_“I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean.  I serve Heaven; I don’t serve man.  And I certainly don’t serve you.”_

_With that, I turn around and depart._

_As I walk away, I can’t help but wonder why a line that should feel correct—and_ is _correct—puts such a nauseous feeling at the pit of my stomach._


	5. Second Contact

I land beside Balthazar, and he turns toward me.

“Find anything useful?”

“Potentially.  I still need to investigate.”

“Dean prayed for you.”

I’m surprised that I didn’t hear the prayer myself.  The conversation with Bobby must have been more absorbing than I thought it was.  “What did he want?”

Balthazar presses his fingers to my forehead, and I close my eyes, listening to Dean’s voice.

_Um… Camael, I don’t know if you’re listening, but I just uh… wanted to talk to you.  Without Sam here.  Could you… could you stop by at some point?  I’ve gotta ask you something._

“He sounds hesitant,” I comment.

Balthazar nods.  “It could be a good sign.”

“Brother, I would like your opinion on a matter.”

He looks at me expectantly.

“Should I reveal my identity?  Bobby is convinced that I should, because Dean will be angrier if he finds out that I kept it from him.”

“I don’t know, Cas.  If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t particularly _like_ Dean Winchester, and I don’t go out of my way to know how he thinks.”

“Bobby called me a coward.”

“And?”

“I found it very displeasing.”

“I’m sure you did.  Look, it’s your own decision.  I feel that it’s better if you stay this way, at least until the Leviathans are dealt with.  You don’t need all the extra melodrama that those brothers will bring up as soon as you reveal your true identity.  It will only slow things down.”

That’s logical.  I can do that.

“Now go check on him, before he drinks himself to death,” Balthazar says.

“Do you know where he is?”

“Yes.  Extracted his cell phone number and called to check his location, imitating _Camael’s_ voice.”

“Thank you.”

He gives me a half-smile and rattles off the address to a motel several hundred miles away from the place where they’d been when I last dropped in. 

About a minute later, I land and see Sam sitting alone on one of the beds.  Dean is not in the room.  Sam looks up just as I manifest myself, and surprise flashes through his eyes briefly.

“Camael,” he says, sitting up straight.  “Dean’s not here.”

I frown.  “Why do you assume that I want to speak to Dean and not you?”

More surprise.  “ _Oh_.  Uh, sorry.  I just…” he pauses, shaking his head.  “It’s just that I figured… since I was Lucifer’s vessel, most angels wouldn’t—”

“I am not most angels,” I say.

He nods.  “Right.  So, you wanted to talk to me about something?”

“Your hallucinations.  Are they—”

“Don’t tell Dean,” he interrupts quickly.  When I don’t respond, he says, “I just… he’s got enough on his mind.  I don’t need him worrying about my head, too.  Not when I’m dealing with it.”

“You are… _dealing_ ,” I say.

He nods again.

“That will not last, Sam.  If you do not rid yourself of these hallucinations, they will drive you insane, and Dean will lose you.  Do you want that to happen?”

“No, of course not.”

“I cannot fix your soul.  It will have to recover on its own—it has the capacity to do so, but the process will be slow.  What I can do is help you distinguish between what is real and what is not.”

“How will you do that?”

“I can assign an angel to your thoughts.  His sole purpose would be to monitor what you see and remind you when you are hallucinating.”

“I don’t think that’ll be helpful,” Sam says with a frown.

“Why?”

He drops his eyes to the ground.  “He’s here right now,” he mutters.

“Who is?”

“Lucifer.”

I stare hard at Sam.  “He’s not here.”

“Yes, I know.  That’s why I’m telling you I’m dealing with it.  He’s not really here, he’s never _really_ going to be here, and I _know_ that.  I’ve got it all under control.”

As he’s finishing the last sentence, the door swings open.

“Got what under control?” Dean asks, brow furrowed.  His eyes land on me briefly, but he passes over me quickly to frown at Sam.

“Nothing.  Everything,” Sam says.

Dean grunts.  “Yeah, sure,” he says.  His attention turns back to me.  “Anything you want to tell me about Sam?”

I glance at Sam and shake my head.  “No.”

Dean’s jaw clenches.  “Angel, we’re going for a drive.  Sam, you’re staying here.”

“Dean—” Sam starts to protest.

“Don’t go anywhere.  I mean it,” Dean says.

Sam lets out an exasperated sigh and flops back on the bed.  “What am I supposed to do in here?”

“Watch porn,” Dean replies as he walks back out of the room and slams the door behind him.

I stare at the door for a moment before looking back at the man lying on the bed.  “Sam, I will not station an angel with you if you do not want me to.  But it would be best if you accepted my help.  You may be safe for now, but I worry for your future.”

He props himself up on his elbows to look at me quizzically.  “You’re an angel.  Why are you worrying about a human?” he asks.

“It is time that angels changed their priorities,” I say.  “We have survived for millennia with the notions of Destiny and Fate as unchangeable things.  But you and your brother have proven that that is not true.  We are not as immutable as you might think.  We can adapt.”

The door bangs open again.  “You coming or not?” Dean growls.

I nod in Dean’s direction.  “Goodbye, Sam,” I say as I move toward the door.

“Thanks, Camael.”

After exiting the motel room, Dean leads the way to the car—still not _his_ car, I note—and slides into the driver’s seat.  I hesitate before getting in on the passenger side.  It feels strange, sitting beside Dean.  It’s as though nothing has changed, yet I know that everything has changed.  I glance over at him and realize that I have to look up more than before to meet his eyes.  He hurriedly looks away.

“Where are we going?” I ask as he starts the car.

He doesn’t respond.  But I am nothing if not patient, so I just stare out the window, watching as we leave the parking lot and drive through a small town, and then onto a two-lane highway surrounded in all directions by flat land covered with dying blades of grass.

I get the sense that even Dean does not know what he wishes to ask me, so I decide to try again.

“I heard your prayer,” I tell him.

He does not answer me verbally, but he steps on the brake and pulls over onto the shoulder, stopping the car.  There are no other cars traveling on this road even though it’s midday, and I wonder why that is.  Perhaps this is a sparsely populated area.

“Before we get into any of that, is Sam okay?” Dean finally asks.

“Yes.”

“Look at me and tell me he’s fine.”

I turn my head and tilt it upwards slightly to look into Dean’s eyes, and suddenly I can’t speak.  I can’t tell him that Sam is fine when he clearly isn’t.  He may be managing the hallucinations right now, but they will only get worse if he doesn’t get help.  Of this I am certain.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters.

“I will convince him to accept my help,” I say.

“Con— _convince_ him?  Just help him!”

“I do not want to invade his privacy without his consent.”

Dean looks angry, and it makes me want to get in contact with Michael immediately.  I know that I am now an archangel, so I have some sway over the other angels, but Michael is ultimately in charge.  He raised me.  If I want to employ an angel, I should go through him first.

But I can always ask Balthazar for a favor.  He could appear in disguise so that Sam would not recognize him—if he did, then there would be questions.  How was Balthazar brought back to life?  And immediately following would be the problematic question: can Castiel come back as well?

“Why are you offering to help us with the Leviathans?” Dean asks.

I frown at the abrupt change of subject.  “Do you not need assistance?”

“Well yeah, we need help.  But why?  We’ve been stuck down here for months without even catching a glimpse of you or your other angel pals.  Why are you here, now?”

“I do not know why I was not assigned to this earlier,” I say.  This lie comes more easily because it’s partially true.  I _don’t_ know why Michael did not resurrect me sooner.  “If I could have come to help, I would have.”

He looks at me for a long moment before turning to look out at the road.  “Yeah, I’m sure you would have.  You angels can’t do anything without being told to, can you?”

“That isn’t true.  You, of all humans, should know that.”

He looks down.  “You’re talking about Cas.”

“Yes.  Sam seems to think that you need to talk about him.”

He glances sideways at me.  “Do _you_ need to talk about him?”

I frown again.  I like to think that I understand Dean much better than I did before, but sometimes, when he says things like this, I am still confused by him.

“Why would I need to talk about Castiel?” I ask.

He shakes his head and looks down.  “No reason.”

It’s silent for a while.

“You wanted to ask me something, Dean.  What is it?”

Dean shifts uncomfortably, and he turns in his seat slightly, looking at me.  His eyes lock with mine, and I suddenly feel this strange contentment, as though I could go on staring into these green eyes and never need to worry about anything.  Not Lucifer, not Leviathans, not facing Dean’s anger or rejection.

“I just wanted to know…”

Here Dean pauses, as though he can’t continue.  I resist the urge to look into his mind.  Invading his thoughts will drive away whatever tentative trust he is showing me.

He takes deep breath and holds my gaze.  “I wanted to know if you’re more closely related to Cas than… than the other angels might have been.”

“We are all created equally by—”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit.”

Apparently, now that his concern has been raised, he has no trouble debating the issue.

“Just look at yourself,” he says.

“What is wrong with my appearance?”

“Wrong?  Nothing’s _wrong_.  It’s just that you… you have the same stupid blue eyes as Cas, and… Christ, you even dress similarly.  You know he had a trench coat in that color, don’t you?”

“Stupid… blue eyes?  I fail to see how you measured the intelligence of my eye color.”

“What are you—I don’t—that wasn’t the point!” Dean splutters.  “My point is that you… I just… why were _you_ sent, out of all the angels that could have come?”

“Do you object to my presence?”

He clamps his mouth shut for a moment, and I note that his fists are clenching and unclenching in his lap.  “I just don’t want to do anything stupid,” he mutters.  “I don’t want…” his voice fades again, and I get the sense that he’s done talking.

But this conversation is not over.  We can’t end on this note.

“What don’t you want?” I ask quietly.

“I don’t need you reminding me of _him_ right now,” he grits out.

There’s a distinctly painful twinge in my chest.  He doesn’t want to see Camael just because she has my eye color.  He doesn’t want to be reminded of me.  He doesn’t even want to _think_ about me.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he says.

I realize that my emotions may have breached the surface a little.  I quickly look down, working to stow the hurt away.

“I just… I can’t see you without… without thinking of Cas,” he says.  “And it makes me want to do stupid things.”

Sure that I can be stone-faced now, I turn to look at him again, curious.  “What do you mean?”

He hesitantly lifts a hand, and I glance at it before lifting my eyes back to his.  But he’s watching his hand as it progresses toward me, and it seems to me as though he can’t believe he’s really doing this.  I expect his hand to land on my shoulder, but it keeps going up, and I feel the lightest brush of his fingertips against my cheek, followed by the reassuring warmth of his palm, cupping my jaw.

My breath hitches in my throat.  I technically don’t need to breathe, but the response is automatic, something that my vessel does on its own.

He takes a shaky breath, and I expect him to say something.

Instead, his hand slides around to the back of my head, tugging me toward him.  Surprised, I allow him to drag me forward, and our lips press together.

I freeze, startled, before shifting slightly so that the angle is more comfortable for him.  He makes what might be a frustrated sound, and I have a moment to wonder what I’ve done wrong before his hand fists in the long hair of my vessel, tugging hard.  Another instinctive reaction from my vessel—my mouth opens, and his tongue slides between my parted lips.

He kisses hard, aggressively, claiming my mouth and giving me hardly any choice but to take.  He leans back but keeps his grip on the back of my head, forcing me to follow.  I flow with his movement, allowing him to pull me until I’m hovering out of my seat, one hand braced on the back of his seat, the other on the steering wheel.

I’m getting dizzier with each stroke of his tongue against mine, and still he shows no sign of relenting.

I wonder when he’ll release me, when he’ll succumb to the need for oxygen.  His other arm goes around me, grips the back of my coat, and pulls.  Another sharp tug, and I crawl out of my seat, awkwardly trying to move without jostling us around too much—he _still_ will not release my head.

I end up straddling his hips with the steering wheel digging into my lower back.  It’s not exactly comfortable, but I seem incapable of focusing on anything other than the set of teeth, lips, and tongue that are so thoroughly occupying my mouth.

Finally, he yanks sharply on my hair, and I let my head fall back.  He gasps for air as he kisses a trail along my jaw and down my neck.

“Dean…” I gasp as he latches on at the base of my neck and sucks hard.

He continues kissing my neck, open-mouthed and hot.  I cling to his shoulders and wait for the storm to subside.  He lets out another snarl of frustration and bites down hard on the delicate skin just below my jaw.  The pain somehow feels good, and my grip on his shoulders tightens slightly.  I cannot tell if this was the correct reaction or not, but he rubs his hand up and down my back slowly before gathering me even closer to him.  I can sense the fight going out of him.  Is that good or bad?

He pulls my head back down to bring our mouths together again, but this time he’s gentle, licking over my swollen lips almost lazily.

When our lips part this time, he presses his forehead to mine.  His breathing has calmed considerably.

“Why… why wouldn’t you stop me?” he murmurs.

I look at his closed eyes, perplexed.  “Did you want me to stop you?”

He lets out what I can only characterize as a helpless sound.  “I can’t do this,” he whispers, more to himself than to me.

It’s so reminiscent of the dream that I don’t know how I’m supposed to react.

“Dean, I—”

“Shh.  Don’t talk.”

He tightens his arms around me, and I watch his face, looking for any clues as to how I should proceed.  But he just looks tired, sad… finished.

“Goddamn it, you even fucking _taste_ like him,” he mutters.  And then he curses under his breath.  “That wasn’t supposed to come out of my mouth.”

I don’t answer him.  I wouldn’t know what to say if he asked me to speak.

We sit this way for a long time, and slowly his grip on me slackens.  His forehead slips down a little, but his eyes are still closed.  I shift upward and pull his head forward so that his forehead rests in the hollow between my neck and shoulder.

His breathing becomes slow and even, and I almost think that he’s fallen asleep.  But then he speaks.

“I… I miss him.”

His voice breaks, and this is such a huge step forward for Dean, being able to admit this to someone.  But I can’t even say anything because I’m not supposed to be so intimately acquainted with his personality, his tendency to suppress his feelings.

“I miss him, too,” I say softly.

It seems to be the correct response, yet I have a sick feeling in my gut when the lie tumbles out of my mouth.

“What would you do if you could have him back?” I ask.

He makes a strange sound that might have been a cough, but I’m not so sure.

“Why would you ask me that?” he mumbles.  “He can’t come back.  It’s a stupid, hurtful question.”

“Castiel has died before,” I remind him.  “He’s been brought back from the dead before.  It could happen again.”

“No, shut up.  Shut the fuck up.  I don’t want to hear this.  I don’t need to hear this right now.”

“But Dean—”

“ _No_ ,” he snarls, and the arms around me tighten as though they’re trying to hurt me.

“I understand that you’re grieving, but if there’s the possibility—”

He lifts his head away from my chest and tugs me downward into his lap so that our eyes are level.  “There is _no_ possibility,” he growls.

Before I can respond, he leans in to kiss me again.  But this time, I refuse to let him take over, taking his moves and using them against him.  I shift my head down slightly and suck his lower lip into my mouth, worrying it with my teeth.  He groans and grinds his hips up against me.

Heat pulses through my being, and I’m distracted by the sensation, allowing him to dominate for a moment.  Then my mind turns back on, and I nip sharply at his tongue when it slides into my mouth.  He hisses in surprise, and my hands fist in the lapels of his shirt, dragging him closer.

And then, moving without much conscious thought on my part, my hands are unbuttoning his shirt, desperate to reach _skin_.  But he’s wearing an undershirt, and in my frustration, I accidentally vaporize it—the fabric dissolves into nothing.

Dean doesn’t seem to mind, moaning into my mouth when my hands run across the flat planes of his chest and torso.  My vessel seems to have some muscle memory of what to do, so I allow the sensations to control my movements.

I don’t realize until it’s too late that my right hand is reaching for the one spot that it shouldn’t touch, the one place that is forbidden.

Though it’s not a perfect fit—I’ve altered the shape of my vessel—as soon as my hand presses into the print I left on his shoulder, something like an electric shock goes through both of us, and we both yelp.  I immediately draw my hand back, but it’s too late.  The damage has been done.  Dean’s staring at me, wide-eyed, and I don’t know what to do, what to say.

I squirm uncomfortably under his stare.

“What was that?” he asks in a low voice.

“I… I don’t know.”

It’s a lie.  I can’t admit to my identity, not now.  This has gone too far.

“What was that?” he repeats, a dangerous tremor in his voice.

“I…” I shake my head as yet another passable lie comes to mind.  “Has another angel marked you before with his Grace?”

Then, ignoring the wave of nausea that rolls over me at my dishonesty, I push aside his shirt and see my handprint.  I frown, examining it as though I’m not already familiar with the shape of my own mark.  I let my eyes flit back up to Dean’s and see a mix of emotions that I can’t identify.  Anger?  Hope?  Lust?  Weariness?  I can’t find any one emotion that dominates.

“Was it Castiel?” I ask.

If the feeling in my chest is anything to go by, this, touching the mark I left on Dean, is the worst mistake I’ve made since I was resurrected.

Dean finally nods.  “Yeah.  Yeah, it was Cas.  What… what happened there?”

“I think my Grace may have reacted to the lingering Grace on your body,” I improvise.

Unable to look at the print without touching it, I drag my finger across the palm of it, fascinated by the heat that courses through me and the answering pull on Dean’s soul.  Dean shudders, and his eyes close.

“Camael, you should stop,” he says in a halfhearted protest.

I press my hand into the mark again, utterly incapable of resisting the need to touch.  My Grace seems to hum with satisfaction, even as Dean groans and drops his head to my shoulder.  I force myself to pull my hand back.  Dean practically _whimpers_ at the loss of contact, and I clench my right hand into a fist to make sure I don’t touch that spot again.

There’s a strange feeling of emptiness in my chest, and something nudges at the back of my mind, a possibility—no, an _im_ possibility—that I don’t even want to consider.  I squash it quickly.

Dean inhales deeply and fists his hands in the back of my coat.  “I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he mutters.

“It’s not taking advantage if it’s mutual,” I respond, running my fingers through his hair.  It’s remarkably soft.

Dean chuckles, but it sounds more out of despair than mirth.  “They did this on purpose, didn’t they?  Whoever’s in charge up there?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t.”

I wait silently for him to explain, but it takes a while—he seems content to just hold onto me.

When Dean finally speaks, it’s to say, “They put you in a vessel that looked like Cas on purpose, didn’t they?  Is this supposed to be some sick sort of test?”

“…Test?”

“Yeah, a test.  Are they trying to test what I would have done to Cas?  Because it doesn’t matter anymore, now that he’s dead.  I don’t get the point.  What do you want from me?”

“Why are you convinced that there is anything more than this?” I ask, still slowly stroking his hair.  “Why would you think I have ulterior motives for—”

“No, not you personally.  Just… Heaven.  I know how much they control you, and how little they actually tell you about your missions.  I’m—I don’t blame you.  But I just don’t get why they would want to do this to me.”

“Dean, I was not sent to test you.  I was sent to help you.”

“Oh, really?” he says, pulling his head back so he can look me in the eyes.  “Then why do you look so fucking much like Cas?  Why do you dress like him?  Why do you smell like him?  Taste like him?  After everything that I’ve been through, I don’t believe in coincidences.  I _know_ there’s something wrong with this picture.  I just don’t know what it is, yet.”

In the other plane, I spread my wings and prepare to take off.  I can’t keep up the lie.  Not right now, when my own mark is glaring at me, blaming me for disowning it.  Not when Dean is looking at me with such a conflicted expression, as though he can’t decide whether or not I’m to blame for constantly reminding him of… myself.

“Camael, I—”

Before he can say anything more, I lean forward and press my lips to his again, stealing one more touch.  I’m too afraid to be left alone with him again, so this is the last time I intend to allow it.  His arms tighten around me again, but I flap my wings quickly and shift into the other dimension.

Inside the car, Dean looks disoriented for a moment.  Then he mutters, “Son of a bitch.”

I expect him to start the car, but he just sits in the driver’s seat, staring blankly at the steering wheel.  I can’t just leave him alone like this.  So I fly back to the motel.

Sam’s sitting on the bed when I arrive.  “Where’s Dean?” he asks.

“Call him.”

By the time Sam starts to ask why, I’m already flying away.


	6. We Will Fight to the Death

_He’s calling Sam again.  Should I just tell him that it is futile?_

_“You can’t reach him, Dean.  You’re outside your coverage zone.”_

_He doesn’t turn around to face me as he asks, “What are you gonna do to Sam?”_

_“Nothing.  He’s gonna do it to himself.”_

_“What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_I can’t answer, so I look down._

_“Oh, right, right.  Gotta tow the company line.  Why are you here, Cas?”_

_“We’ve been through much together, you and I.  And I just wanted to say… I’m sorry it ended like this.”_

_“Sorry?” Dean scoffs._

_He reaches out and punches me, and I remember just in time to turn my head so he doesn’t break his hand on my face.  He turns away, cradling his hand slightly._

_“It’s Armageddon, Cas.  You need a bigger word than ‘sorry,’” he says, turning around._

_“Try to understand—this is long foretold.  This is your—”_

_“Destiny?  Don’t give me that ‘holy’ crap.  Destiny, God’s plan… it’s all a bunch of lies, you poor, stupid son of a bitch!  It’s just a way for your bosses to keep me and keep you in line!” Dean says, pointing first at himself and then at me.  “You know what’s real?  People.  Families.  That’s real.  And you’re gonna watch ‘em all burn?”_

_“What is so worth saving?” I explode, stepping closer to him.  “I see nothing but pain here.  I see inside you.  I see your guilt, your anger, confusion.”_

_And it’s killing me—but I can’t speak those words._

_“In paradise, all is forgiven,” I continue.  “You’ll be at peace.  Even with Sam.”_

_Dean just stares at me for a moment, and I have to lower my gaze, unable to meet his eyes.  This is a first.  But he leans over slightly, trying to catch my eye, and I can’t help but meet his gaze again.  It’s as though my eyes are drawn to his, unable to resist their call._

_“You can take your peace… and shove it up your lily-white ass.  ‘Cause I’ll take the pain, and the guilt—I’ll even take Sam as is.  It’s a lot better than being some Stepford bitch in paradise.”_

_Unable to accept what Dean is telling me, I turn away, but Dean continues speaking, ignoring my reaction._

_“This is simple, Cas!  No more crap about being a good soldier.  There is a right, and there is a wrong here, and you know it.”_

_He grabs my shoulder, and I allow him to spin me around._

_“Look at me—you_ know _it!  And you were gonna help me once, weren’t you?  You were gonna warn me about all this, before they dragged you back to bible camp.  Help me, now.  Please.”_

_“What would you have me do?” I ask helplessly._

_“Get me to Sam.  We can stop this before it’s too late.”_

_“I do that, we will all be hunted.  We’ll_ all _be killed.”  And the image of Dean’s body, lifeless, soul departed or destroyed, is almost too painful for me to imagine._

_“If there is anything worth dying for… this is it.”_

_I shake my head and look away.  I can’t._

_“You spineless…_ soulless _son of a bitch.  What do you care about dying?  You’re already dead.  We’re done.”_

_I want to look at him, but I don’t want to see him walking away from me.  If I could just explain_ why _I can’t do what he wants me to do…_

_“Dean—”_

_“We’re done.”_

_They’re only two words, but to me they sound like nails hammered into a coffin.  Hardly capable of understanding the burning ache that sits heavily in my chest, I spread my wings and lift away._

_I arrive in the realm of Heaven that is most familiar to me and call for my friend, the only friend I know who will help me._

_“I don’t know where Balthazar is, but I don’t think he’s in Heaven,” Rachel says, appearing behind me._

_“He must be.  I need him.”_

_“What for?”_

_I shake my head, and she walks around to face me._

_“Castiel… what is happening?”_

_“Go.  I need Balthazar right now—not you.”_

_She frowns at me before flying away, and I focus my concentration on summoning my friend.  Thankfully, he appears a moment later._

_“Yes, yes, I heard your call.  I was busy, you know.  Demons to be killed, paths to be laid…”_

_“I need your help.”_

_“Of course, or I wouldn’t be here.  What are you planning this time?”_

_I am a serious being—I do not joke.  But to make sure he does not take this as a joke, I look him in the eyes and say, “Rebellion.”_

_Balthazar falters.  “Rebellion?”_

_“I do not need you to do anything but stall Zachariah.  He is watching over the Green Room.  Distract him.  I will not need much time—just a minute.  Maybe less.”_

_Balthazar looks concerned.  “I—”_

_“I need you to do this for me, brother.”_

_“Have you already forgotten what it was like to be punished for disobedience?  It will be so much worse if you rebel.  You will burn, Castiel.  Are you going to force me to watch that?”_

_I only look at him._

_“Well,” he finally says.  “It seems your mind is made up.  I hope you know what you’re doing.”_

_“You will help me.”_

_“Only because I know you would try with or without my help, and I would much rather not see you caught and burned.  Good luck, brother.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_He disappears, and I count three beats before taking flight._

_I manifest myself in the Green Room and grip Dean’s shoulder, turning to press him into the wall and clapping a hand over his mouth—Zachariah must be monitoring him closely, and if he makes so much as a peep in surprise, I will have lost my edge._

_As I wait for him to catch up with me, I retrieve the demon knife from my belt.  Dean stares at me, wide-eyed, before understanding my intention and nodding slightly.  I remove my hand from his mouth and use the knife to carve a rut into the arm of my vessel, using the blood to draw a banishing sigil on the wall._

_I only have seconds left now.  Zachariah is coming.  But I cannot rush this—the strokes must be in order._

_“Castiel!”_

_I do not change speed, maintaining the same precision as I approach the last few strokes of the sigil._

_“Would you mind explaining just what the hell you’re doing?”_

_Before Zachariah can reach me, I press my hand into the center of the complete sigil, and Zachariah is banished in a flash of light._

_“He won’t be gone long,” I tell Dean.  “We have to find Sam now.”_

_“Where is he?”_

_“I don’t know.  But I know who does,” I reply as I return the demon knife to him.  “We have to stop him, Dean, from killing Lilith.”_

_“But Lilith’s gonna break the final seal.”_

_“Lilith_ is _the final seal.  She dies, the end begins.”_

_The look of surprise mingled with horror on Dean’s face makes me wish that I’d told him earlier, that we had more time on our hands.  I immediately press my fingers to Dean’s forehead and transport us to Chuck Shurley’s home._

_“Lady, sometimes you’ve gotta live like there’s no tomorrow,” he’s saying into a phone.  Then as he turns to face us, his eyes widen, and he blurts, “Wait, t-t-this isn’t supposed to happen.”_

_He continues to speak into the phone for another moment before hanging up on “Lady” and turning his attention to Dean and me._

_“We need to see your newest pages, Chuck,” Dean says from beside me._

_Chuck looks nervous.  “Z-Zachariah said—”_

_“We don’t have time for this.  Give us the pages,” I demand._

_Chuck takes two quick steps over to his desk, rummages through the papers, and hands some over to Dean.  Dean scans the pages quickly and looks up._

_“St. Mary’s?” he says.  “What is it, a convent?”_

_“Yeah, but you guys aren’t supposed to be there.  You’re not in this story,” Chuck says nervously._

_“Yeah, well…” I say, looking up at Chuck, “we’re making it up as we go.”_

_Then the world begins to shake around us, and white light descends._

_“Aw, man!  Not again!” Chuck cries._

_“It’s the archangel!” I roar over the noise.  I turn to Dean.  “I’ll hold him off!  I’ll hold them_ all _off!  Just stop Sam!”_

_I press my palm to Dean’s forehead, sending him to St. Mary’s with a brief prayer for his success and—maybe more importantly; I don’t know anymore—his safety._

_Then I turn to face the window, which is the direction from which Raphael is approaching.  The shaking gets steadily more severe, and Chuck rests a hand on my shoulder.  I almost flinch at the unwanted contact and turn to look at him.  He seems to understand, lowering his hand, and I face forward again, drawing my blade._

_I can sense my brothers attempting to follow the hint of a trail left behind that shows where I sent Dean, but I reach through the fabric of this dimension, using a great deal of force to wipe away all traces of Dean’s travel.  Their frustration radiates in my direction in waves, but I need not worry about them—they will not reach me before Raphael does._

_The archangel seems to have elected not to take a vessel, which means that I will be no match for him in this limited human form._

_But I will not let him hurt Dean, and if it means that I will die, so be it._

_Then he’s in the room—well,_ partially _in the room—with me, wrath radiating from his Grace in waves._

_Chuck looks like he’s in shock, and I shove him to the side.  Apparently he is one of the few humans who are able to see angels in our true form._

_I manage to sidestep Raphael’s first attack by melting into another plane and taking a stab at the part of him that lingers in that dimension.  He makes a sound that deafens the ears on my vessel, but I do not need to hear.  I escape to the human dimension as Raphael turns his attention to the other plane, and I succeed in stabbing at his grace again, severing a tendril of the silvery white light._

_The roar in response to this attack reverberates in the chest of my vessel, and I see that Chuck looks beyond dazed.  Before I can make another move, offensive or defensive, Raphael has wrapped tendrils of his Grace around me, forcing me to drop my weapon._

_Just before the final squeeze, he forces me to face him, and I see wrath as I’ve never seen it before.  He’s filled with rage, but he is_ happy _to kill me.  We angels may not have a choice in killing others, but no matter what happens, we should never feel joy in taking another life._

_Yet in this archangel’s Grace, the fury that I see is saturated with pleasure in squeezing the life from me._

_There’s an instant of absolute, searing pain, and blinding white._

_And it’s over._

* * *

I sit in that familiar realm of Heaven and watch a kite flying high up above me without really seeing it.

I’m still shaking.

The sensations in the dream had startled me, but in reality they’d been so much more potent, so much harder to resist.  My Grace is pulsing with unease.  Having come so close to a soul marked by myself, the distance now almost _hurts_ , as though a piece of myself has been ripped away.

This reaction on my part only confirms my fears, and regret fills me.

I try to stand still, but my wings won’t stop quivering.

Dean.

Dean.

Dean.

My Grace is calling out for him.  I feel empty without him, now that I know how it feels to connect with him.

I’m almost surprised that I hadn’t noticed the formation of the bond, but I’d been a bit preoccupied with escaping from Hell, and I hadn’t touched the handprint after dragging him out of the pit—second contact was never made.  I also hadn’t known what it would feel like to be connected so intimately with another being.  I have absorbed souls, _owned_ souls, before, but that wasn’t the same as this bond.

This bond makes us equal, forces me to need him as much as he needs me, if not more.  I wasn’t aware that this type of connection could form between mortals and immortals.

I can’t tell how long I stay in this place, but my wings eventually stop twitching, and the pain, the _need_ , dies down.

I vow never to touch that print again, because it will be near impossible to leave him after coming into contact with my mark again.

Then I hear a prayer addressed to me.

_Camael, hey.  I uh… I don’t know what you said to him, but he’s in pretty bad shape.  If you’re really here to help us, you should come by and fix this.  Or at least tell me what’s wrong, so I can try to help him.  I thought…_

Sam turns around midsentence and jumps, surprised—I’ve just landed behind him.

“Hi,” he says, eyes still wide.

“Hello, Sam.”

It is already nighttime on Earth.  I can hear the shower running in the background, and it’s a relief to know that Dean will not be interrupting us unexpectedly.

“Look, you were right,” Sam says.  “I do need some help.  But I won’t let you help me unless you help Dean, too.”

“What would you have me do?  I do not know how to help him,” I say.

Sam blinks a few times.  “What do you mean?  He wasn’t exactly all sunshine and daisies before, I get that, but he was really messed up when he got back.  What did you do to him?  He wouldn’t talk about it.”

“He worries about you.”

Sam sighs exasperatedly.  “I _know_.  He told me that already.  But I worry about him, too.  And I’m sorry, but with the two of us, it’s all or nothing.  So if you want to help me, you’re gonna have to fix him first.”

“I don’t _need_ your permission, Sam.”

“Maybe not, but the fact that you asked tells me that it means something to you.  That you don’t want to invade my privacy.  You seem like a decent person—angel.  Why don’t you want to help Dean?”

“What makes you so sure I’ll be able to help him?”

“He came back from talking to _you_.  You’re the only one who knows what happened, what his problem is right now.”

I sigh and turn away.  “I have a job to be doing.  Will you be going anywhere soon?”

Sam shakes his head.  “We haven’t heard of any cases yet.  I’m keeping an eye out, but I think we’ll be here for a few more days.”

I nod.  “Goodbye, Sam.”

He looks disappointed, but I can’t face Dean.  Not right now.  Bobby was right.  I am… a coward.

I lift off and head down into Hell—better to keep moving.  It occurs to me that I’m more worried about talking to Dean, a logically harmless human being, than entering Hell to talk to Crowley, a more powerful creature.

As soon as I arrive, the demon pops up, smirking.

“Hello, Cas,” he says.

“I have something for you to investigate.”

“Forty-five point four, eighty-nine point three?  Dick Roman just bought a huge plot of land there.”

I shake my head.  “Keep an eye on it, but I don’t think it’s relevant.”

Crowley frowns.  “But the Winchesters got a number from—”

“The final digit was a five, not a three.  The land may be a decoy.”

“Ah, you’re cheating.”

“It’s hardly cheating.  I am merely using the resources available to me.  Besides, we are on the same side.  Any information either of us picks up benefits both of us.”

Crowley rolls his eyes.  “Oh yes, I’d forgotten that we’re all buddy-buddy, now.”

“I want you to—”

“It’d be nice to have a little chat before we get down to business,” Crowley interrupts.

“Crowley…”

“Trust me.  I’ll be much easier to control if you keep me happy.”

“What did you want to talk about?” I ask in a flat voice.

“Let’s talk about Dean Winchester.”

I glare at him.  “No.”

“Oh Cas, you’re so touchy.”

“Do I have to threaten you again?  When you’re dead, I won’t have to worry about keeping you happy.”

Crowley holds his hands up, palms out, in a clear show of surrender.  “All right, all right.  No need to get nasty.  What should I be investigating, if the land is just a decoy?”

“April fifth to April eighth, 1995.  Something important happened during those dates that those creatures are intrigued by.  Find it.”

Crowley frowns.  “Time?  That’s an angel’s job.  We demons can’t—”

“Have them search through records.  I will send an angel back in time, but I want you to find everything you can on those four days.”

Crowley shrugs.  “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

I shake my head.

“Very well, then.  Do you want me to drop in with the answers, or shall I wait for you to come back?”

“Find me on Earth,” I decide.  “Unless I’m with the Winchesters.”

“Of course.”

“You’re on better behavior,” I note.

“I do want those slimy buggers gone.  No need to alienate my ally.  Well, not _ally_.  Enemy of a mutual enemy, and all that.”

I nod but don’t comment.

“Well, I think I’m going to send a few demons to do a bit of dirty work, and then I’ll have a nap.  Do I need to see you out?”

I fly away without responding.


	7. Somewhere Along in the Bitterness

_It is supposed to be over._ I _am supposed to be over.  So why am I still capable of thought?_

_I feel immense soreness throughout my Grace, and I can’t open my eyes.  Eyes.  These are human eyes that I’m thinking of.  So I’m in my vessel._

_But I was ripped apart by Raphael._

_So how…?_

_I manage to lift my eyelids and see darkness above me, dotted with stars.  I’m outdoors.  I sit up slowly, and the muscles in my vessel’s body protest instantly._

_I feel weak, limited._

_And then I realize that I’ve been removed from the Host.  I’ve rebelled.  I’m supposed to be dead.  My brothers will no longer see me as one of them.  I have lost them._

_Dean._

_I need to find him and determine whether or not he was successful in stopping Sam.  I did this for him.  If he is not well, and the world is not saved, I will have given up everything for nothing.  I immediately cast my mind out and find, relieved, that he is alive.  Good._

_But the relief disappears almost instantaneously.  I can_ feel _Lucifer’s return.  Losing an archangel hurt the powers of the whole Host.  It happened when Gabriel ran away and again when Lucifer Fell.  Now that he has risen, I feel his power—neither he nor I am directly connected to the Host anymore, but we can still detect that power.  He is an archangel, so he will be able to access it.  I am not, so I remain on my own._

_So Dean failed.  Sam killed Lilith, and the Apocalypse is upon us._

_A small part of me reminds me that at least Dean survived.  At least he was not killed.  My sacrifice has not been in vain.  There is still a chance to stop the end of the world.  Angels need consent in order to take vessels.  If Dean and Sam do not consent to Michael and Lucifer, there can be no final battle._

_Then I realize that they will be in grave danger.  Lucifer must know that Sam will not take him at once, so he will be searching for a substitute vessel.  Michael, meanwhile, believes that Dean has sworn loyalty to Heaven, and to him.  He will have sent someone—most likely Zachariah—down to collect._

_When I cast out my thoughts for Dean a second time, I sense that he is in the company of angels._

_No—that can’t be good._

_Despite the vessel’s reluctance to move, I get to my feet and stretch out my wings.  These are sore as well, and I can’t help but wish that I had access to Heaven’s power, so that I could heal these little aches instantly without worrying about saving my strength._

_But I will live.  I am alive, and that is enough._

_I fly to Dean’s location and instantly see that Zachariah is torturing the brothers.  Rage flares hot through me, and I manifest myself right beside one of my brothers, shoving my blade straight through his neck before he has the chance to react._

_My other brother—this one I also do not recognize instantly—quickly steps over to attack me.  My moves are swift, clinical, precise, born of millennia of experience in combat._

_I am still, on the most basic level, a soldier._

_Lean back to avoid a blow to the chest.  Lean back once more for a swipe at the throat.  Kick him against the metal sheet behind him—this would never work in our true forms, but human vessels have weaknesses.  Strong right hook to the jaw while he is vulnerable._

_Dodge another blow.  Grab his dominant hand and slice his wrist with my blade.  Knock his blade from his vessel’s now-limp grip.  Twist his dominant hand behind his back; dislocate his shoulder.  Kick the blade out of his reach._

_Throw him against the steel web again.  Then a wall.  Then the opposite wall._

_He is now too weak to put up any effective resistance.  Shove his face into a wall.  Hold him there.  Stab blade through the base of the neck, between the first and second vertebrae of his vessel._

_His Grace glows, and I know too well the burn that is spreading through his entire being._

_An explosion of white._

_Then the fight is over.  I withdraw my blade and allow the now-empty vessel to collapse._

_Zachariah looks perplexed, and his confusion makes his defenses weak, allows me to see into his thoughts.  Inexplicable facts are tumbling around, and I see the fact that Sam and Dean were magically transported to an airplane, away from Lucifer._

_“How are you…” my former superior begins._

_“Alive?” I finish for him, taking a few steps in his direction.  “That’s a good question.  How did those two end up on that airplane?  Another good question.  ‘Cause the angels didn’t do it.  I think we both know the answer, don’t we?”_

_“No.  That’s not possible.”  Disbelief is etched all over his vessel’s face._

_“It scares you.  Well, it should.  Now, put these boys back together and go.  I won’t ask twice.”_

_Zachariah vanishes instantly.  I have never felt more powerful.  Yet it is disorienting to see my former superior appear to be so frightened by me.  Am I now an abomination?  I do not believe I have done anything wrong.  Would God punish me for protecting Dean, one of his most beloved creations?_

_Sam and Dean slowly get back to their feet, recovering._

_“You two need to be more careful,” I say._

_“Yeah, I’m starting to get that.  Your frat brothers are bigger dicks than I thought,” Dean replies._

_“I don’t mean the angels.  Lucifer is circling his vessel.  And once he takes it, those hex bags won’t be enough to protect you.”_

_I need to fix that.  I place one hand on Dean’s chest and the other on Sam’s.  I run through the sigil rapidly in my mind before focusing intently on their ribs.  Both brothers grunt in pain._

_“What the hell was that?” Dean demands._

_“An Enochian sigil.  It’ll hide you from every angel in creation, including Lucifer.”_

_“What, did you just brand us with it?”_

_“No.  I carved it into your ribs.”_

_They stare at me in disbelief._

_“Hey, Cas, were you really dead?” Sam asks._

_“Yes.”_

_“Then how are you back?” Dean asks._

_Rather than admit that I don’t know for certain, I flap my wings and shift into the other dimension.  They look around, perhaps to see if I am still in the room, but of course, they cannot see me._

_I need to go.  I need to sort out my thoughts._

_I wish I could speak to Balthazar, sort out what he thinks of all this.  Now that Zachariah has seen me and returned to Heaven, I will be irredeemable.  I have killed two of my brothers.  I did not know them on sight, but they were my brothers nonetheless._

_I have truly rebelled against Heaven._

_There will be punishment for this.  But who brought me back?  Why would I be brought back?_

_And then I allow myself to really think about the possibility.  Is this what He meant when He said that I was different?  Was God really the one who resurrected me and placed Sam and Dean out of harm’s way?  It is impossible for me to know._

_Unless…_

_Unless I find Him.  I have to find God._

* * *

Sometime later, I fly to the brothers’ motel room and wait there, cloaked.  I’m not sure why I went against my better judgment and chose to come here.  It might have had something to do with the desire to at least _see_ Dean again.

Sam is lying on his bed, breaths deep and even, and I can see that he’s about to enter a dream.  Dean’s lying down as well, but his eyes are open.

I walk over to look at him, and I can sense the pull of his soul on my Grace.  Indulging myself for a moment, I move closer—the proximity feels soothing.

But when I reach the side of his bed, his head jerks up, and he looks around with a frown.  I back away slowly even though I know for a fact that he can’t see or hear me.  His head falls back against the pillow, and he huffs out a quiet sigh.  His right hand comes up to grasp at his left shoulder, massaging it absentmindedly, and I wonder if the pressure is comforting to him.

Then Crowley appears.

I still don’t know how he manages to shift between dimensions as angels do.  He is the only demon I’ve known who could do so.  And he was capable of the feat even before he became King of Hell, so that can’t possibly be the reason.  Then again, perhaps it is just a trait that all crossroads demons share—I have never met another.

Dean sits up.  “What the hell?” he growls, flicking on the bedside lamp.

“Hello, boys,” Crowley says with an amused smirk.  He does not seem to be aware of my presence; as long as I don’t shift through space, he shouldn’t be able to detect me.

“What are you doing here?” Dean demands.

“Just visiting.  Can’t a bloke miss his friends?”

Dean points between himself and Crowley as he says, “ _We_ are not friends.”

“Well, now you’ve hurt my feelings,” the demon says with a mock-hurt expression.

“What are you doing here?” Dean repeats.

Sam groans.  “Dean, _shut up_.”

“Crowley’s here,” Dean replies.

“Crowley can go to Hell,” Sam mutters, still half-asleep.  Then his eyes snap open.  “Wait—Crow—”

“Yes, I’m here.  Hello, darling.”

Sam wrinkles his nose at the endearment.  “Why is he—”

“I don’t know.  He won’t say,” Dean says.

“I’m popping in to tell you that I’m going to help, okay?”

The brothers turn their faces toward Crowley with matching looks of skepticism.

“All right, all right, so I may have earned that,” Crowley says.  “But I’m a demon.  Cracking into Purgatory sounded like an excellent idea.  Good ol’ Cas would pop Raphael’s noggin, the Apocalypse would be averted forever, and me… well, I’d get obscene amounts of power downstairs.  But obviously, that didn’t work out so well.  So I’m here now, to patch things up.”

“That’s a load o’ crap,” Dean says.  “You made it clear that you weren’t going to be involved.”

“Let’s just say an old friend asked—well, more like _demanded_ —that I do him a favor.”

“Why are you here instead of out doing something, then?” Dean asks.

“I just wanted to make my position clear.  Wouldn’t want you two airheads trying to kill me as soon as I showed up.”

“Who is this ‘old friend’ you’re talking about?” Sam asks.

I tense and spread my wings slowly, prepared to snatch Crowley if he shows any intention of unmasking me.  But he only shrugs.

“Not important,” he says.  “It’s enough that you two know I’m invested in you.  And I’d appreciate it if you don’t kill demons that cross paths with you in the immediate future—I’ll be sending them out to gather information.”

Sam and Dean glance at each other.

“Tell us who convinced you to help,” Sam insists.  “Whoever it was has to be a big player in all this, if he could demand things from you.”

“Mm, no.  I’d rather not.”

“If you can’t tell us who it was, why should we trust you?” Dean says.  “For all we know, you could be working with Dick and coming here to try and trick us.”

Crowley looks back and forth between the brothers.  “You two ungrateful little buggers.  I could squash you like ants if I wanted to.”

“Do it, then.  Don’t sit around making empty threats,” Dean says.

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam says.  He turns to Crowley.  “I thought threatening people with violence was beneath you.”

“Even the best of us lose our patience sometimes,” Crowley responds.  “Anyway, I doubt you would know this friend of mine, even if I _did_ give you his name.”

“You leave that for us to decide.  Just tell us,” Sam says.

“Well,” Crowley says, “he’s known as the One who seeks God.”

“Can we skip the riddle?” Dean says impatiently.

I wonder when I ever told Crowley my pseudonym.  Or am I really so predictable?

Crowley’s eyes flick between the boys again, and then he vanishes.

“Oh, that son of a bitch,” Dean growls.

“Do you really think he could have teamed up with Dick Roman?” Sam asks.

Dean shakes his head.  “No, of course not.  He hates the guy.  He had the same look on his face when he was talking about killing Lucifer two years ago.  Can’t fake that.”

Sam nods.  “Well, at least we can be pretty sure he’s not working against us.”

Dean’s frowning.  “I don’t like it.  I don’t trust him.”

“I know.  Especially after everything with Cas—”

Dean stiffens, and I ache inside.

Sam heaves a long sigh.  “Dean, _please_ talk to me?”

Dean instantly shuts down.  “I’m gonna get on your laptop, okay?  See if I can find out who this angel is that Crowley’s talking about.”

“Dean.”

Dean’s now out of bed, crossing the room to grab Sam’s computer from the table.

“Dean,” Sam says again.

“Hmm?” Dean grunts without looking at his brother.

“Dean, put the laptop down.  I already know the name.”

Anticipation coils in my gut as I look at Dean’s face.  How will he take the news?  Will he think of this as another betrayal?

“Okay, then,” Dean says, looking back at Sam.  “Who is it?”

“Camael.”

Dean blinks a few times, but I only see surprise.  “Camael?  Are you sure?  Crowley said it was a he.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.  Besides, angels don’t have genders.  Only their vessels do.  Remember how Raphael came back in a female vessel?”

Dean nods, but he still doesn’t look particularly angry.

And instead of feeling relief, as I’d expected, I start to grow irritated.  Bitter.  It isn’t fair.  Why was he so angry at _Castiel_ and not at all at Camael?  I don’t understand.  As Castiel, I tried to save the world by stopping Raphael from taking over Heaven and restarting the Apocalypse.  As Camael, I am attempting to save the world by ridding it of Leviathans.

Both times, I decided to partner up with Crowley.  Why is it that Dean sees Castiel’s actions as betrayal and not Camael’s?  I’m itching to ask the question, but I remember that Dean had been furious when he found out I’d been eavesdropping, last time.

I’ve tuned out their voices at this point, but then Sam directly addresses me, catching my attention.

“Hey, Camael.  Dean and I wanted to talk to you, ask you something.  If you’re not busy, could you drop by?”

I don’t want to show myself, so I just watch as the boys look around, waiting for my arrival.

Then I hear the beating of a set of wings, and Balthazar lands beside me, invisible to Sam and Dean.  “I don’t think you should be spending so much time here, Cas,” he tells me.

I don’t respond, and Balthazar sighs.

“If you’re going to stay here, you may as well show yourself to them.  They’re waiting for you, after all.”

“I have a job for you,” I say, turning to him.

He shakes his head.  “Can it wait?  I think you should answer them first.  And I’d like to stick around to make sure you do.”

“Return to the year 1995, the dates April fifth to April eighth, and tell me what you find,” I say, ignoring him.

“Fine.  What am I looking for?”

“Anything a Leviathan might be interested in.”

“Well, that’s helpful,” Balthazar says sarcastically.  “I’ll see you later.  _Talk_ to them.”

Then he flies away.

“She’s not coming,” Dean decides.  “I told you she wouldn’t.”

“Maybe she’s busy,” Sam says.  “When you talked to her, did she mention Bobby at all?”

Dean shakes his head.  Sam opens his mouth to speak, but Dean holds a hand up.

“Look, Sammy.  I know you just wanna help, but looking at me like I’m about to go nuts really isn’t what I need from you right now.”

“Then what _do_ you need?”

“I need you to just leave me the hell alone, all right?”

Sam’s ire shoots through the roof, and he hops out of bed.  “Fine.  That’s just fine.  I’m going.”

Dean stares at Sam, and I barely manage to catch the bit of carefully concealed regret as it flickers in Dean’s eyes.  Sam pulls a t-shirt and then a sweatshirt over his head, then gets a pair of track pants on and heads for the door, snatching a room key on the way out.

“Sammy…”

“I’ll be back in the morning, Dean.  Get some sleep, asshole.”

The door slams behind Sam, and Dean mutters, “Bitch.”

He lets out a humorless chuckle, one of those sounds that reminds me of how broken he is, before flopping back onto the cheap mattress to stare at the roof.

Now that we’re alone together, every fiber of my being is pulsing, pulling me toward him—his distress makes my Grace ache with the need to soothe, to comfort, to fix.

I turn around before I can do anything stupid, spread my wings, and fly away.

* * *

_I hear the flap of wings and tense up, drawing my blade.  I’ve already killed two of my brothers this week, and if any more show up, surely they will be here to take me down.  This angel sounds like he’s come alone._

_I slowly turn in a circle, prepared to shift out of this dimension if need be._

_When he finally shows himself, I lunge, but stop myself before getting into striking distance._

_“Balthazar?”_

_He smiles grimly.  “Castiel.”_

_“Are you here to kill me?”_

_He shakes his head.  “No.  I… wanted to see for myself.  I heard rumors that you came back from the dead.”_

_“Well, here I am.”_

_He takes a step toward me, and I tense up, grip tightening on my blade._

_“Castiel.  Cas.  I’m not here to take you in,” he says._

_It’s strange to hear one of my brothers refer to me as “Cas.”  It seems only Dean and the other humans are fond of that name._

_Balthazar takes a few more steps, closing the distance between us and hugging me.  It seems like such a human gesture.  I hardly know what to make of it.  His wings flap forward, colliding with mine briefly, and I lift my arms to return the embrace._

_Balthazar releases me with a small smile.  “It’s good to see you.”_

_“I am… pleased to see you, as well,” I say._

_“So, you’re really in it with the Winchesters, now.  What are your plans?”_

_I eye him warily._

_“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” he says.  “You can always trust me.”_

_“I’m going to find God.”_

_His eyebrows go up.  “Really?  And how will you manage that?”_

_“I have the amulet.”_

_“Amulet?  What—_ oh _.  I see.”  Then he frowns.  “What makes you think God would want to help?”_

_“He loved humans more than any of His other creations.  I am sure He wants them to survive.  And He was the one who resurrected me and took Sam and Dean out of Lucifer’s immediate reach.  I have faith that He will help.  I just have to find Him.”_

_“It’s amazing that you can still have so much faith in God, Cas.  You certainly have more faith than I do, and I’m not the one who was just destroyed by Raphael.”_

_“Why don’t you have faith, brother?”_

_He shakes his head.  “Your rebellion, Cas.  Our brothers say terrible things about you, things I know not to be true.  You were always one of the best of us.  What you did… you interfered with a prophet’s prediction, but—”_

_“I failed.”_

_“Still.  I cannot see the wrong in what you did, aside from breaking a rule or two.”_

_“That is exactly what I did wrong,” I say._

_“I am talking about your actions and their consequences.  You went against the rules of Heaven, yet God chose to bring you back.  Doesn’t that mean God approves of your choice?”_

_I shake my head.  “I don’t know.  None of us can truly know what He wants.”_

_Balthazar nods._

_Then I ask, “Can you tell me if Raphael will be coming down to Earth anytime soon?”_

_“You’re not seriously considering…”_

_I only nod._

_“Are you suicidal?” he demands._

_“No.  I need to find God.  The amulet alone is not enough.  Only the archangels, or Joshua, might know.  And I can’t go back to Heaven.”_

_“All right, then.  I can give you the city that he just visited.  But be careful, Cas.”_

_He presses his hand to my forehead again, and as the images pass from him to me, there’s suddenly the sound of wings around us._

_I’m still gripping my blade, so I look around warily.  Balthazar draws his blade as well._

_Then Haniel appears, followed closely by Ramiel and Barachiel._

_“Oh, you lot.  Are you three ever apart from one another?” Balthazar says._

_“Balthazar, what do you think you’re doing?” Ramiel asks._

_“Are you really going to betray Heaven?” Barachiel adds._

_“Why do you constantly look like you have sticks shoved up your arses?  Is it because these missions interrupt the relaxed ménage a trois lifestyle you’ve got goin’ on in your spare time?”_

_“Enough,” Barachiel growls.  “Choose your side.”_

_“Well, I thought that my choice was already abundantly clear,” Balthazar says, stepping closer to me.  I reach out to push him away, and I want to tell him to go, but it feels so good to have someone_ on my side _._

_The three angels move to surround us, and Balthazar turns, pressing a hand on my chest and muttering rapidly under his breath.  I don’t realize that it’s a banishing spell before it’s too late, and I’m thrown forcefully into the other dimension, flapping my wings as hard as I can in an attempt to control where I’m going and stop myself before I’m sent straight into Heaven._

_By the time I’ve collected myself and returned, the clearing is empty, save for a blade on the ground, and the imprint of a vessel with the charred black impression of a set of wings._

_I squat down, slowly, and pick up the blade, dreading what I’ll find.  Sure enough, it’s Balthazar’s.  The vessel is gone, but this blade is enough.  I know he would never leave it behind—he’s a warrior, like me._

_“Castiel.”_

_I spin around and see Rachel standing a short distance away from me.  Her expression is blank, her voice flat.  “I’ve come to retrieve his blade,” she says.  “I will not try to kill you.  Not today, not right after he gave his life for you.  That would be disrespectful to him.  But if I ever see you again, I will show you no mercy.”_

_My gaze sharpens, and I let my eyes bore into hers.  I may be one of the youngest angels, but Rachel is not much older than I am, and I can defeat her.  She doesn’t flinch, but her eyes turn away as she holds her hand out for the blade._

_“If you attack me, I will fight back,” I tell her as I move toward her.  “I will show you as little mercy as you show me.  But I will never be the first to attack you, because you are still my sister.  And despite all this, I am still bound to my family.”_

_When I finish speaking, Rachel is standing stiffly, and her Grace appears to be shuddering with repressed emotion.  I place Balthazar’s blade in her waiting hand._

_“Goodbye.”_

_I take one last look at the giant scorch marks on the ground, all that remains of my brother and friend.  Even though he’s gone, I offer a silent prayer to him before departing._

_May Peace be with you, Brother._


	8. Walking on a Thin Line

I once possessed seemingly infinite patience.  Now, I can hardly contain myself after just over a day.

I wonder if I am becoming more human, the more time I spend down here.  After all, Gabriel acted rather human after hiding down here for several millennia.  My stay here hasn’t been so long, but I’ve been closer to the human experience, I think, than most of my brothers and sisters.  I practically _was_ human for a length of time after Van Nuys.

My patience wears thin far too quickly now.

Balthazar has not yet returned, and Crowley hasn’t come to report to me.  To occupy myself, I’ve started constructing a body for Bobby.  Usually, bringing humans back to life should be simple for archangels.  But Bobby would want his old body back, and since the Winchesters cremated him, I must construct it from memory without any help from his bones.

We prefer to start with the sternum, but I have already had three failed attempts.  I’d already completed his skeleton on the third attempt when I realized an alignment in his spine was wrong—this would put Bobby back in a wheelchair, and though it’d be simple to heal him, I do not think he would appreciate sitting in a wheelchair for any length of time, however brief.

This fourth skeleton looks fine—it should match with Bobby’s soul adequately.  Constructing the flesh and blood, followed by skin and hair and clothing, is simple after that.  I press my hand to his chest and force the heart to pump a few times, prompt the lungs to draw in air.  Everything seems functional.

“Oh, dear.  Cas, what _are_ you doing?”

I stand and turn to face Balthazar.  “I made a promise.”

“Does Bobby know who you are?  Who you _really_ are, that is.”

“Yes, he knows.”

“Aren’t you worried that he’ll tell Sam and Dean as soon as he returns?”

“We agreed that it is my choice.  He disapproves, but he is a good man.  He will keep his word.”

“Humans lie, Cas.”

“As do demons, monsters, and even angels,” I say, gesturing toward myself.

“I suppose I can’t argue with you there,” Balthazar says with a shrug.  “Just be careful.”

“I have nothing to fear from Bobby.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” he replies, but it’s clear that he doesn’t trust Bobby as I do.  “So, why did you send me back to 1995?  I found nothing abnormal there.”

I frown.  “The numbers that Bobby tried to give the Winchesters pointed me to that year and those dates.  He said the Leviathans would be trying to use something from that period of time.”

“Why couldn’t he just tell you what it was?”

“Bobby is stubborn.  And he did not trust me to resurrect him if he told me everything.”

“Would you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Would you bring him back?” Balthazar clarifies.

“Of course.  I gave my word,” I say.

He nods.  “So bring Bobby back.  He’ll be able to tell us what we’re looking for.”

I spread my wings to leave, but Balthazar reaches out and grabs my elbow.

“Wait.  You haven’t cleared anything up here, have you?” he asks.

“Balthazar…”

“If Bobby sees Dean in a bad state, he might feel obligated to tell him everything.  You know that, don’t you?  Regardless of whatever promise he’s made you, the Winchesters are like sons to him.”

“I am aware.”

“Then go do something about it.  You may be an archangel now, but you’re still my little brother, and I do not want to see you unhappy.”

“I… thank you, Balthazar.  But—”

“Just go,” he says.  “I won’t follow to check on you, but I trust you know what to do.”

I sigh and shake my head at him.  Then, after a moment of hesitation, I say, “I need you to do me a favor.”

“All right,” he says readily.

“Monitor Sam’s mind.”

Balthazar frowns.  “That’s a huge breach of his privacy, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.  But he is struggling with hallucinations of Lucifer.  I need someone there to help him rest his mind.”

“But I can’t be seen.  We don’t want them to know we’re alive, do we?” Balthazar says.

“Just stay cloaked, then.  I will tell him that an angel is watching over him.  You have my permission to interfere if things ever get dangerous.”

Balthazar nods.  “I’ll do my best.  Let me know when to start.”

I take off for the motel.

Sam is sitting alone when I drop in.  He puts down the folder he’d been flipping through and looks up at me.  “So?” he says.  “Have you decided you’re gonna help Dean yet?”

“Where is he?”

“Went out for a drive.”

“I will speak with him when he returns.  Now, will you accept my help?”

Sam shakes his head.  “After I know he’s okay.”

“You don’t trust me,” I observe.

“No,” he admits.  “Did you find Bobby, by the way?”

“Yes.  He’s in Heaven.”

Sam immediately smiles.  “How is he up there?  He’s okay, right?”

“Of course he is.  He is resting in the fields of the Lord.”

“We’ve been to Heaven before, Dean and I,” Sam says.  “No need to keep up the charade of Heaven as some huge, beautiful place.”

“He wasn’t in his realm when I visited,” I report.  “He was visiting Ashley—well, _Ash_.”

Sam chuckles.  “Ashley?  That’s his name?”

I smile.  It is nice to see Sam smile; Dean would be happy if he could see this.

“Was Bobby able to tell you what the numbers meant?”

I nod.  “I am working on leads.”

“Tell me, then.  Let me help.”

“I will tell you what I find.  It won’t help to give you information when I have not finished gathering it.”

Sam scowls.  “Dean and I can help.  We know what we’re doing.”

“I am aware.”

“Look, if we’re going to work together, you’re gonna have to share what you know, okay?”

“When I know what it means, so will you,” I say.

“But you said that Bobby explained—”

“Yes, but he wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, either.”  It’s not a huge lie, and I manage to deliver it without arousing suspicion.  “I repeat, I will tell you what I find as soon as I find it.”

Sam lets out a frustrated huff but doesn’t say any more.

“When will your brother return?” I ask.

“I don’t know.  Give him a call.  Or just pop in with him while he’s driving.  No—don’t.  I’ll call, tell him to get back here, and get out of your way.”

“Why—”

“I don’t want to have to worry about waiting for him to get back here,” Sam says.

“I will do my best to improve his spirits.  But if it is not effective, will you still accept my help?  I promise to do as much as I can for him.”

“It’d better work.”

“But if it doesn’t?”

Sam just looks at me.

“You won’t consent if your brother doesn’t get better,” I say.  It is not a question, and from the look on Sam’s face, I know that it is true.

Well, as a last resort, I can always tell Dean that Sam won’t let me help him until he thinks Dean is better.  Dean cares deeply for Sam.  He’d be willing to fake it for Sam’s sake, I’m sure.  And although I don’t like the idea of Dean faking anything, I’ll take it for the time being, because Sam really is wandering through dangerous territory.

“I’ll just head out now,” Sam says.  “I’ll call him on my way to the library.  Three hours should be more than enough for you to sort things out, right?”

I nod as Sam shrugs into his jacket, grabs his book, and leaves the room.

I remain standing in place for a while, allowing my mind to go blank.  But again, this newfound impatience plagues me.  I long for something to do to fill my time.  I do not think I would enjoy being human—impatience is an irritating feeling.

About fifteen minutes later, the door opens.

“You’re not Sam.”

“Astute,” I respond without turning to face him.

He stands in the doorway for a moment before entering and shutting the door.  “What do you want?  And where’s Sam?”

“He is at the library.  He will return in approximately two hours and forty-five minutes.  I am here to speak to you.”

“Yeah?  Well I’ve had just about enough of you, so you can go back to wherever you came from.”

He’s still angry with me for leaving him in the car the day before yesterday.  I turn to face him as he walks toward one of the beds.

“Dean—”

“Save it.  I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Is it because I’m using Crowley?” I ask.

Dean blinks a few times, pausing to look at me.  “Crowley?  You think this—” he gestures between the two of us “—is because of _Crowley?_ ”

“It is not an unreasonable conclusion.  You considered it betrayal when Castiel—”

“No.  We are not— _why_ does everything circle back to him, huh?  Why?”

“Because I am trying to help you, Dean.  You need a healthier way to grieve.”

He takes a few steps toward me, an angry look on his face, and my Grace suddenly pulses hotly, as though sensing his proximity.  My right hand twitches, and I clench it into a fist.  Whatever words he was going to say die before they leave his mouth as the emotion showing on his face transforms from anger to confusion.

“I…” his voice fades, and he just stares at my eyes.  Remembering too late that my eyes are still my own, I avert my gaze.  “Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t stop seeing his eyes,” he breathes.

He takes another step closer, and I feel like my Grace is _singing_.

“Camael?” he says in a low voice.

“Yes?”  My voice sounds so small.

His hands rest on my cheeks and tilt my face up toward his, and I suck in a deep breath, eyes widening.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Then his lips descend upon mine, and it’s every bit as intense and frantic as it was in the car.  My mind doesn’t seem to be capable of doing much more than trying to keep up with the kiss and chanting, “Dean, Dean, Dean, _Dean_ ” repeatedly.

He presses me back against a wall, and I manage to pull myself together long enough to turn my head away from those irresistible lips.

“Dean,” I gasp as he licks and kisses his way down my neck.  “Dean, I didn’t come here for this.”

His knee slides between my legs, and he crowds in even closer, sucking and biting at the area just below my jaw.

“You said you wanted to help me find a healthier way to grieve, didn’t you?” he growls against my skin.

I swallow hard when he rolls his hips against mine and I can clearly feel his erection pressing against me.

“This is just trading one vice for another,” I say in a deceptively even voice.

He takes a small step back, and for a second I think that I’ve successfully talked him out of this.  But he just removes his jacket, followed by his shirt.  He’s about to pull his undershirt off when I grab his hands, stopping him.

“No.”

He twists his hands around, fingers encircling my thin wrists.  “What, you don’t think you’ll be able to restrain yourself?” he taunts.

“Dean—”

He releases one of my wrists, pulls out the demon knife, and stabs it into the table on my left.  “If you skip out on me today, I might have a little accident,” he says.

“Dean, are you threatening me?”

His jaw clenches once.  “I said I’m sorry.  You’re not gettin’ any more than that.”

Then he releases my other wrist and tugs his shirt off.  I instantly ball my right hand into a fist, but then Dean’s hand is back around my wrist, tugging my hand toward the place where he wants it to be.  I shake my head, holding still.  He can’t move me unless I allow him to—I _am_ still an angel, I remind myself.

“Go on,” he murmurs, leaning in to mouth along my jaw, and I feel like my vessel is seconds away from spontaneous combustion.  “Touch it.  Touch me.”

My Grace flares up again, recognizing the soul to which it’s bonded, the soul whose call is stronger than a siren’s song.  I shift out of the plane and reappear a few feet behind Dean.  As soon as I disappear, his hand shoots toward the knife.

Alarmed, I tug him away, and he spins to face me, looking more dangerous, more murderous, than he’s been in a long time.  He pulls my hips against his and presses his jaw against my temple, shifts his head down slightly and presses his lips against my skin.

“I’m not fucking around, angel.  I _will_ do it.”

“You’re being ridiculous, Dean.  This isn’t worth endangering your life.  Why are you—”

With an angry snarl, he ducks his head down and claims my mouth again, not allowing me to finish speaking.  And I, greedy creature that I am, can’t force my lips to stop moving in response to his, can’t stop _needing_.

I stand completely still, hands fisted at my sides, trying my best to restrain myself, to put a leash on this craving.  His hands work their way down my coat, undoing the buttons rapidly and shoving the material off my shoulders.

“Come on,” he mutters into my mouth, breathing harshly.

I open my eyes and see his beautiful green eyes staring back at me.  “Dean… I should go.”

“No.”

“You can’t hurt yourself because of this.”

“Why can’t I?  Everything hurts so goddamned much that sometimes I just think—”

“What about Sam?” I throw out, because I’m desperate to convince him that he’s being stupid and shouldn’t treat his own safety so carelessly.

“Sam’s the reason why I’m still here,” Dean says, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

His hand curls around my wrist again, tugging upward gently.  I can feel his soul reaching for me, can see it in the undisguised _want_ in his eyes.  And I want to respond, but I can’t.  Touching my mark will only strengthen the bond, and I can’t have that.

It’s dangerous.  And I don’t deserve it, after what I did to Sam and, by extension, Dean.

“Please,” he mumbles, forehead pressed lightly against mine.  “I need it, Cas.  _Please_.”

I stiffen.

And a beat later, Dean freezes.  “I—I didn’t—”

I want more than anything to flee, but at this point, Dean will only be worse off if I leave.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” Dean says.

I get the sense that he would be recoiling if he could, but the bond between us has him clinging to me even though he probably doesn’t want to.

“Dean, I am not angry with you,” I say.

It’s the truth.  I wonder if his soul _knows_ me, recognizes me, even though Dean himself does not.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he mutters in my ear, arms tightening around me again.

I tentatively lift my arms up and put them around his neck, a bit surprised to see the white fabric that’s covering my arms—my coat is lying on the ground behind me.  He shifts a little, and a flash of dulled heat thrums through me as my arm comes into contact with his shoulder.  The cloth between us lowers the intensity, but my Grace instantly wants more.  Dean shudders, and I draw my arm back.

“Dean, stop.  Control yourself.”

I back up a step, but he only steps forward with me.

“You’re not some sort of siren posing as an angel, are you?” Dean asks.

“No, I’m not.”  Why would he ask that?

“Would a siren’s mojo work on you?”

I frown and try to step to the side this time, but he remains attached, moving with me, and I can’t force myself to actually push him away.  “No, of course not,” I say in response to his question.  “I’m an angel.”

“Oh.  I was sort of wishing I was one o’ them, but I guess there’s no point.”

“Why… why would you wish that, Dean?”  He _kills_ monsters like sirens.  Why would he ever want—

“Then I’d be able to control you,” he says.  His eyes open, and I observe that they seem half-crazed.  “I don’t think you understand how much I need… damn it, _please_.”

“Dean, you are not in a good mental state.”

His eyes close again, and he sighs deeply.  “You’re _just_ gettin’ that?”

“I should not… coming into contact with your soul like that is not good,” I tell him.

“That’s what’s happening when you touch my shoulder?  You’re touching my _soul?_ ”

“Essentially, yes.”  It isn’t really a lie.  I just don’t wish to explain the mechanics behind this bond, and I’m not sure how much he would understand, anyway.  Especially in this state.

“Do it,” he says, nuzzling against my jaw.  “Just one more time.  _Please_ … Sam asked you to come, didn’t he?  He called me to make me get back here to talk to you, so you must be here because of him.  He wanted you to make me all better.”

I don’t need to confirm it—Dean knows he’s right.

“I’ll make him leave you alone,” he offers.  “I’ll convince him that everything’s fine.  Just… please…”

I can’t take the quavering tone of his voice, can’t ignore the brilliance of his soul as it shines as bright as it can, trying to draw me in.  And then his perfect, green eyes open again, focusing on mine, and I see tiny gold flecks in the irises, ones that are only visible up close.

I rest my hand on his forearm, holding his gaze, and surrender.

How can I deny these eyes, this soul, this man?

I slide my hand up his arm, and I realize that I want to know what he’s thinking.  I want to know how much he understands of what is going on between us.  For the first time in a long time, I give in to temptation and penetrate his thoughts.

_Don’t stop.  Fuck, don’t you dare stop.  I’m sorry, but I need this.  I need to feel it again, and you’re the only one who’s ever… I need to feel Cas again._

I jerk out of his thoughts, terrified, but my hand’s been moving of its own accord, and before I can stop it, it slides into place over the print.  That wave of intense _heat_ floods through me as it did last time, and I barely hear Dean’s groan over the blood rushing in my vessel’s ears.

“Oh, fuck.  Yes,” Dean hisses, placing a hand over mine as though he’s worried that I’ll pull away.

Pleasure rolls through me in waves, and I feel complete.  I don’t know how I existed for so long without _this_.

“Holy crap,” Dean breathes, “you’re glowing.”

My eyes snap open, and I realize that the entire room is suffused with light.  I restrain myself, cut down the glow, and start to withdraw my hand, but Dean’s grip tightens.

“No—please, no.  Not yet,” he practically whines, and I’m shocked by how destroyed he looks.

I feel my wings straining to unfurl and give them some leeway, keeping them cloaked.

“Dean… this is bad.  Very bad,” I murmur.

“You don’t know how bad I’m been craving this,” he replies, shaking his head.

I can feel how… how _relieved_ his soul is to finally have what it wants.  And Dean still doesn’t have a clue why…

“Does this affect you the same way it affects me?” Dean asks.

“I… don’t know,” I say.

Dean presses our lips together, and this time it’s slow, sweet, intimate.  I don’t ever want to relinquish my hold on his shoulder, his soul.  Our lips part, and this time, when I take a small step back, he lets me move without him.

I brace myself, staring at his eyes, before removing my hand.

Hollowness rushes in, carving a place for itself in my Grace, the force of it very nearly crippling me.  Dean staggers back a step, breathing deeply, eyes squeezed tightly shut.  We are silent and still for a long time.

“Sorry,” Dean finally says.  His voice is hoarse.  He’s not meeting my gaze—his eyes are locked on my right hand, yet again balled into a fist at my side.  “I just made it worse, didn’t I?”

I manage a nod, and he draws a shuddering breath before stepping toward me again.

“I don’t know if I’ll last a day like this,” he confesses.

I feel the same way.

“Ca… Camael.  I’m sorry.  I—”

“I already said that I am not angry with you.”

“Then I’m angry with myself.  I just… I shouldn’t be… _using_ you like this.  It’s not _me_.  I just… I just can’t…”

He looks dangerously close to tears, and I pull him into an embrace, arms around his middle to avoid even the slightest possibility of coming into contact with his shoulder.

“You can talk to me,” I tell him.  “I will not judge.  And if you do not want me to, I will not tell Sam.”

“Why do you have to look so much like him?  Your eyes… they look just like his did.”

“Perhaps it is fate.”

He snorts.  “I don’t believe in fate, in destiny.  If Cas really shared stories with you, you should already know that.”

I nod, because I _do_ know.

“Who’s in charge up there?” Dean asks after a moment.

“Hmm?” I say.

“In Heaven,” he clarifies.  “Who’s in charge now?  Michael and Lucifer are locked up, and Gabriel, Raphael, Zachariah, and… and Cas, are all dead.  Who calls the shots now?”

I hesitate for a moment before settling on the truth.  I’ve lied about enough.  “Michael.”

Dean draws back slightly.  “Michael?”

The distraction is good.  It means he’ll think less about the problem between us and more about other things.  Easier things.

“Yes, Michael.”

“But he—and Lucifer—is he—how?”

I sigh.  “You may want to sit down.”

When Dean only narrows his eyes at me, I proceed to explain how Michael was able to follow Sam out of the pit when “Castiel” raised him.

Dean listens quietly, then says, “When were you gonna tell me all this?”

“It did not seem important.”

He frowns.  “What else are you keeping from me?”

I blink once.  “Dean.  I have existed for hundreds of thousands of years.  Millions.  Do you expect me to tell you everything I know?”

Dean gives me a pained smile.  “You talk like him,” he observes.

I just look down.

A moment later, he says, “Well.  It all makes sense, then.”

“What makes sense?”

“Why you look, dress, and talk like Cas.  I get it now.”

I frown.  How does that make any sort of sense to him?

“Michael clearly still has a grudge against me and Sam for getting him stuck in the pit, but he needs us to get rid of the Leviathans, so he’s getting back at me by sending someone who… well… by sending _you_ here.”

“How is this… getting back at you?”

He tries to pull my hand back toward his shoulder, but I resist, so he rotates his body and drops into a crouch so that my cloth-covered arm rests over the mark.  Though that isn’t enough—not _nearly_ enough—the burn eases a little.  He lets out a soft sound, and I pull my arm back, ignoring the feeling of loss that closes in on me again.

“You said just once,” I say tightly.

“I know, I know,” he replies, straightening and stepping close again.  He lets out a shaky breath as he says, “I don’t know how long I can last without touching you.”

I back away from him, breaking all contact between us, and it’s easy to see how the separation almost _hurts_ for him.  I want to do something to make it all better, but I’ve never heard of a human soul that was bonded to an angel’s Grace as an equal.  I have no idea how to end it.

Then I feel his hands on my hips, sliding around my waist as he shifts closer.

“Not long, apparently,” I tell him dryly.

This gets a short laugh out of him, and I wish there was something more I could do.

“Will this happen anytime an angel touches my shoulder?” Dean asks.

“Why?” I ask.  “Are you anticipating another angel’s touch?”

An irrational spark of jealousy lights up in me as I ask the question, and an insane, suicidal urge to press my hand to his shoulder and make sure that he never even _considers_ letting another angel come near him surges forward, surprising me.  I suppress it quickly.

“No,” he says.  “No, I just… I was trying to figure out what I’ll do when you leave.”

“What _will_ you do?” I ask.

“Maybe I’ll just keep praying for you.  I’ll nag you until you come back.”

“You shouldn’t do that,” I say.  I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist him.  But he doesn’t need to know that.

He nuzzles against my temple again.  “I might have to,” he murmurs.

I shake my head slightly but don’t move away, and he folds me closer to him.

“Don’t leave until you absolutely have to, okay?”

I’m surprised that he would ask this aloud.  Dean’s never liked feeling dependent on anyone.  It’s almost too much that he would stoop to ask me, an angel who is really a stranger to him, to stay.

I find myself worrying about him even more than before.  But the bond forged a connection between us at the deepest level—it _is_ his soul, after all—so it makes sense that he would instinctively open up to me.  I wonder if it scares him.  If he’s even realized it yet.

Then I hear Balthazar calling for me.

_Crowley is with me.  He has news for you, but you were still with Dean when he checked.  Finish what you’re doing and return._

“I have to go, Dean.”

“What if I won’t let you?”

“You can’t make me stay.”

He backs up a bit to look down at me, but I find myself looking at the small tattoo by his clavicle instead, the one that keeps him as himself, keeps the demons out.

“Do me a favor, would you?” he says.

I barely manage to stop myself from responding with “anything”—in Dean’s current state of mind, it’s very likely that he would take advantage of a blanket promise like that, and my eyes flick to the brand on his shoulder.

“What do you need?” I ask instead.

“Could you… give me something?”

I frown.  “Like what?”

“Anything.  Something so I know you’re not completely gone.”

I pull out of his arms and stoop to pick up my coat, and even that brief separation makes me feel icy inside.  “Like this?” I ask, offering it to him.

He flinches.  I don’t understand why, but he shakes his head.

“No,” he says firmly.  “Not your coat.”

Do coats have special meaning to humans?  But then I remember that Dean still has my—Castiel’s, or rather, Jimmy Novak’s—coat, folded up in the trunk of the car.  I recognized its presence.  Perhaps he associates the keeping of a coat with the death of the wearer.

I nod once and slip my arms back into the sleeves.  My movements are clumsy—I’ve never done this before—but they bring a smile to Dean’s face, and he reaches over to do up the buttons.

“So, about that favor,” he prods.

I find myself staring at the print, longing for another touch.  But no—I already shouldn’t have touched it the second time.  I won’t go for a third.

Dean follows my line of sight and swallows hard.  “Not that I wouldn’t love that, Camael, but if you touch me there again, I won’t be letting you go anywhere today.”

“I have nothing to give you,” I tell him.

It hurts to see the disappointment on his face, and I reach up to touch his cheek.  His eyes meet mine, and I can tell without looking into his thoughts that “Cas” just flashed through his head.  I bring one of my wings forward and pluck one of the longer feathers from it.  As soon as the feather leaves my wing, it becomes corporeal, and Dean’s eyes widen a fraction when I offer it to him.

“That is all I can think of to give you.  Angels do not have material possessions.”

He takes the long, golden feather from me, watching how it catches and reflects the dim afternoon sunlight filtering in through the blinds.

“Is that sufficient?” I ask hesitantly, unsure what to make of the now-blank look on his face.

“Yeah.  Yeah, this is good,” he replies, looking back at me.

“I will leave now, then.  Do not hurt yourself,” I say, jerking my head toward the knife.

“Yeah, I got that.  You take care o’ yourself too, all right?”

I nod and take off to join Balthazar and Crowley.


	9. The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street

_“Castiel, I don’t believe we’ve met.”_

_I turn rapidly and see Sam, but he’s not Sam anymore.  “Lucifer.”_

_“Yes, it’s me.  Care to guess which year I just came from?”_

_I shake my head._

_“2014, Castiel.  It is a sad future, yours.”_

_I look at the face of Dean’s younger brother and wonder how he could possibly have said “yes” to Lucifer._

_“Do you know why I’ve come?” he asks._

_“Dean.  He was sent into the future,” I respond._

_“You’re one of the sharper ones.  I like that.  Loyal, too.  To a cause you can believe in.  You don’t have blind faith, Castiel, and I respect that.”_

_I watch him wordlessly, not allowing myself to show how intimidated I am by him.  Raphael is the only archangel I’ve ever met, and Lucifer is even more powerful than he is._

_“I wish you luck, searching for our Father.  But I already know you won’t find him,” Lucifer says._

_“You are wasting my time,” I say.  “If you’re finished, you can go.”_

_He raises an eyebrow at me.  “Are you…_ dismissing _me, Castiel?  How brash of you.”_

_“Sam will not say ‘yes’ to you.  He and Dean will stop you, and I will be there to help in any way possible.”_

_Lucifer clicks his tongue.  “As an angel, I thought you would know better than that, Castiel.  It’s called destiny for a reason.  You can’t change destiny.”  His tone turns slightly bitter as he says, “Try as I might, nothing will go back to the way it was, because that was not how it was_ destined _to be.”_

_“You are talking about Michael,” I observe._

_His expression hardens again.  “Well, it was nice talking to you, but I’ll be off, now.  Just wanted to stop by and check on you.  I will see you again in… well, your future, and my past.”_

_With that, he reveals his broad, golden wings and shifts out of this plane, heading for the future, and I’m left with a bad taste in my mouth and a sense of helplessness regarding the future—if Lucifer has Sam’s body already, and he had the time to come here for a chat, then it’s clear that he won._

_Is there any point in fighting when we already know the outcome?  I may have made a choice to help Dean, may have stepped off the path, but the outcome was the same: Lucifer rose, and the Apocalypse begun._

_I reach into the pocket of my trench coat and pull out the amulet.  God can’t be dead.  Raphael was lying.  Lucifer can’t have been the one to raise me, because he would not have let Sam and Dean escape from the convent._

_God intervened.  I just need to find Him and convince Him to do it again.  To end the Apocalypse for good, so that Sam and Dean will be able to rest peacefully at night, knowing that no angels or demons will be breathing down their necks, trying to find them so that they can be sent to Michael or Lucifer._

_I look down at the amulet and think of Dean, of the man who tried to convince me that this world is worth dying for.  I would like to say that I decided to help Dean in order to save the world, but my motives were not so noble.  I want to save this world because Dean wants to.  Because it means a lot to him, which means it should be—must be—worth saving._

_I see the flaws in our Father’s creations, but they are each unique in their flaws, infinitely varied.  And most human souls are beautiful.  None can compare to Dean, but they are still pleasant to look at.  I still do not understand how Uriel could have referred to them as “mud monkeys.”  Yes, they are closer to the mud than we are, but that in no way makes them primates._

_I close my fist around the amulet._

_It’s true that I haven’t had any luck yet.  Perhaps I really should go to New Mexico and search for God among the flatbread, as implausible as it sounds, just in case.  For all his faulty logic, Dean does turn out to be right, sometimes._

* * *

“Balthazar.  Crowley.”  I fold my wings behind me as I land.  “What did you find?”

“Oh, a mess of things,” Crowley says.  “A lot of it made little to no sense.  However, I will say that I don’t think that piece of land is just a decoy.”

When he offers no further information, I press, “Explain.”

“On April fifth, 1995, a man bought that plot of land.  The name he gave was Richard Griech.  Three days later, he was kidnapped on suspicion of being a spy,” Crowley says.

“Spy?”

“Human politics,” Crowley says, rolling his eyes.

“Nonsense if I ever saw it,” Balthazar adds.

They glance at each other as though surprised that they have something in common.

“Go on,” I prod.

“Well, he was taken in by the CIA.  Supposedly he’d left instructions behind, saying that the Romans should inherit land from the Greeks, as that was the way it had always been.  The locals just thought he’d gone mad and ignored it.  But we know better—Dick _Roman_ has that land now.  So he did inherit, after all.  I did a bit more digging, but Griech isn’t anywhere in Hell, so he must be in Heaven, because he certainly isn’t anywhere on Earth.”

I frown.  “But if he knew about the future, was he a psychic?”

“I don’t know, perhaps.  Why don’t you two fly home and check?”

I nod to Balthazar, and he takes off.  I mull over the new information.  It’s strange that the man would use the word, “inherit.”  That implies some sort of relationship between himself and the ones who are to inherit.

“He could be in Purgatory,” I deduce.

Crowley doesn’t look happy with that possibility.  “Pardon?”

“He could be in Purgatory,” I repeat.

“No, that’s impossible.  The only creature that came out of Purgatory was that woman—Ellie or Elsie?—and we’ve killed her already.”

“It’s possible that Eleanor Visyak had a child, a creature whose origin would be Purgatory and would thus be destined to go there.  If that is the truth, and he is indeed dead, then we have no way to reach him.”

“He probably isn’t in Purgatory,” Crowley says, but he sounds less confident now.

“What is the relevance of this land, then?” I ask him, changing the subject.  “What was Richard Griech buying it for?”

“He said it was for building an electrical plant—he was early for the sustainable energy trend that seems to be going around these days.”

I just look at him for a moment.

“I don’t suppose you know what I’m talking about.”  After another pause, he says, “It doesn’t matter.  The point is that it wasn’t what he really was going to do.  He was going to build a nuclear facility for Russia here.”

“I don’t see the point.  The Cold War was over already at the time.”

“So you’re caught up on your history, but you’re hopeless otherwise.  Is that it?”

I ignore the question and ask, “Why would the Leviathans be interested in this?”

“I’ve no idea,” Crowley admits.  “If they needed to lay waste to the planet, they wouldn’t need to go nuclear— _human_ nuclear, that is.”

I frown.  Some time has passed since I died.  If the Leviathans were intent on causing complete destruction, they certainly would have had more than enough time to do so by now.  I search in my head, reaching for any hints that the creatures may have left behind while occupying my vessel.  But as usual, all I can sense as far as intentions go are anger and a call for revenge.

Revenge for what, and on whom?  The Leviathans were locked away long before the creation of the first angels.  We could not have done anything to offend them.  Humans came later, and demons even later.  So who could have wronged these monsters?

“What’s on your mind, Cas?  Do share,” Crowley says.

“The Leviathans are here for revenge,” I say.  “I’m trying to figure out who could have offended them.”

“All of us, obviously.”

“How?”

“By existing,” Crowley says.  “Our very existence repulses them.  At least… we demons disgust them.  I don’t know what they think of angels.”

“Our… existence, upsets them?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes and nods.  “Don’t you remember Lucifer’s problem?  How he hated God for creating humans because he wasn’t Daddy’s favorite anymore?”

I nod, beginning to understand.  “So they want to destroy all of us because they lost God’s attention.  But why not just destroy us directly?”

“You’ve got me there,” Crowley says.  “I don’t understand the slimy buggers.”

I sigh as the truth comes to me.  “They’re clever.  Death said that they are.  Clever, manipulative, deadly.  They don’t want to destroy all of us yet.  Their first target is God’s favorite—humans.  And they want the humans to kill each other, to destroy themselves.  To make it even more painful for God to watch.”

Crowley listens with a frown, and Balthazar returns.

“I couldn’t find him,” he says.

“So he is in Purgatory,” I say.

“But that doesn’t matter now, does it?” Crowley says.  “We already know what they want.  We just need to decide what we’re going to do about it.”

“What do they want?” Balthazar asks.

I quickly run through the conversation I had with Crowley, and Balthazar agrees with my conclusion.  And Crowley is correct—all that remains for us is to determine what we should do about it.

“I’d love to say ‘bugger the humans,’ but demons are probably next on the list, so we might as well stop the slimy creatures before they get going,” Crowley says.

“Try to figure out exactly what Dick Roman is planning to build on that land.  I suspect it will spark conflict between some other country and the United States.  Nothing motivates humans to act more than fear.  And these politicians seem to fear everything,” I say.

“We should probably share this with the Hardy Boys,” Crowley says.

“Who?” I ask.

Crowley sighs and glances at Balthazar.  “Always been like that?”

To my surprise, Balthazar nods.  “Yes, always.  He’s never had much interest in culture.”

It’s strange to see them getting along.  I suppose the “Hardy Boys” is yet another reference that’s just escaped me.  I wait patiently for them to explain.

“Talking about the Winchesters,” Crowley finally tells me.

“Oh,” I say.  “Yes, we could pay them a visit.”

Crowley frowns.  “All of us?”

“Not Balthazar.  I don’t want them to know that he’s returned.”

“Because you don’t want them to know _you’ve_ returned.  Oh, Cas.  Trading one owner for another.  Don’t want Dean to reject you and run away like your daddy did?”

“Enough,” I say, choosing to ignore the jab.  “We’re leaving now.”

Balthazar gives Crowley a sharp look.  “Don’t talk about Cas like he’s a dog.  I’ll make you rue the day you chose to set foot on Earth as a crossroads demon and put yourself on the path to us.”

Crowley just smirks.  “You’re cute when your feathers get all ruffled up, angel.”

Again, I’m surprised when the anger slides off Balthazar’s face, and he shoots back, “You’re cute when you’re trying to look unafraid.  But trust me, it doesn’t work.”

“Shall I go on without you?” I ask Crowley pointedly.

He disappears in response.

Balthazar lifts his shoulders and lets them fall, as though shrugging off the encounter with Crowley.  “You had a chance to talk everything out with Dean, yes?” he asks.

I nod.

“Shall I start spying on Sam?”

I almost wince at his word choice.  “Not yet—I’ll tell you when,” I reply before taking off.

A moment later, I land beside Crowley in the motel room.  Dean’s perched on one of the beds, watching the demon warily.

“Where’s Sam?” I ask.

“On his way back,” Dean replies.  “Crowley says you have news on Dick.”

“Yes.  I’ll explain to you and Sam together, when he returns.”

“You can put that knife away, you know,” Crowley says.  “Don’t be so nervous.  I won’t attack you.  And even if I do, you’ve got an angel on your side.  Isn’t that right, Cam?”

The “a” in “Cam” lasts longer than is normal, and I realize that the demon almost called me “Cas.”

Dean looks murderous.  “It looks like you’re pretty close to her, yourself,” he grunts.

“Oh yes,” Crowley says, glancing at me.  “We’ve known each other for a while, had a few deals over the years.”

Dean frowns at me, but I shake my head.  “We’re not really friends.”

Crowley just smirks again, and I want to whack the look off his face.  Now that I’m an archangel, I could smite him easily if I really wanted to, but a more violent demon could take his place, and that would only cause more trouble.

Then the door opens, and Sam enters.  “Leviathans?” is the first word out of his mouth.

“Yeah, Bonnie and Clyde here are gonna tell us a bedtime story.”

Sam sits on the other bed, facing us.

“You can do the honors,” Crowley says, gesturing toward me.

I proceed to explain the meaning behind Bobby’s numbers—at least, what _we_ believe the meaning to be.  At this point, I remind myself that I’ll need to fetch Bobby’s soul from Heaven and perhaps speak to Michael, if he’ll hear me.

Dean’s eyes don’t leave me while I’m speaking, and even after I’m finished, his eyes linger on my hand.

“So the Leviathans want us to turn on each other,” Sam says.

“Yes.  Congratulations on your mastery of the English language,” Crowley says.

“We have to stop them,” Sam says, ignoring the demon.

“Obviously, Sammy.  The question is, how?”

Even as Dean speaks, his eyes remain fixed on my hand.  I subtly put my hands in the pockets of the tan trench coat that Balthazar modified for me, and his eyes flick up to mine.  I give him a small shake of my head.

“We… is there any way we could—oh!” Sam exclaims.  “That must be why they don’t want to draw attention.  If people find out about them, then we’ll be onto them.”

“Well, yeah.  But we know they exist already, so—” Dean begins.

“They’re still out of sight most of the time.  I’m sure most hunters don’t even know they’re really here,” Sam reasons.  “If enough people found out, then we could all go public, and that would ruin the plan for us humans to destroy each other.”

“Of course, they’re vastly superior in strength, so they could always just wipe us all out anyway,” Crowley points out.

“Well, aren’t you just a pocket full o’ sunshine?” Dean responds.

“We should start calling hunters, spread the word, let the world know what’s going on.  If we get enough people together, I think we could prevent us from turning against each other, at least,” Sam insists.

“Do you really want the world to know about all the monsters in the dark?” Dean asks.

“You got a better idea?” Sam replies.

“No, but don’t you think people would go a little crazy?  They’d start seeing monsters _everywhere_.”

“If we just—”

“Sam, have you _seen_ the twilight zone?”

“That can be a back-up plan,” I say to prevent an argument, and to keep the conversation from spiraling into more references that I don’t understand.  Twilight zone?  Isn’t twilight a time of day?  Zones refer to geographical areas, not periods of time.  I dismiss the irrelevant train of thought.  “First, we’ll see what we can do about stopping this at the source.  And Crowley is not wrong—they _could_ just move on to what is surely their plan B.”

“Which is?” Dean asks.

“Mass murder.  Almost nothing can stop them.  I’ve never fought a Leviathan, but I know how powerful they are.  They’ve…”  I stop myself just in time, but I fear that I’ve already given away too much.

“They’ve…?” Dean prompts.

“They killed Castiel,” I say.  “Like it took nothing.  He was still an angel.”

Crowley’s also looking at me now, and he almost seems worried, as though this is the first time he’s considered the possibility that we could lose, that we could all die.

“All right, you said going public should be a back-up plan,” Sam says after a moment of silence.  “What do you suggest we do right now?”

“I have demons looking at the plot of land.  As soon as he starts building, I’ll let you know.  More of us are infiltrating Dick’s offices to see if we can get our hands on anything,” Crowley reports promptly.

Sam and Dean look surprised.

“You really _are_ helping,” Sam says.

“I did tell you that Cam here asked for a favor.”

“Hmm,” Dean grunts.

“What should _we_ do?” Sam asks, letting the topic of Crowley’s cooperation go for now.

“Contact the other hunters to let them know what’s coming,” I decide.  “Tell them to keep their eyes open and see what they can do to get political connections—if we have access to high public figures, average humans are more likely to believe us.”

“So, are we done here?” Crowley asks.

“Do you have anything more to tell us?” Sam asks.

“Nope,” Crowley says.

“Then we’re done,” Sam says.

Crowley disappears instantly, and I trace his motion down towards Hell.

“Camael, before you go, mind answering something for us?” Sam says.

“What do you need?”

“How did you get Crowley to help?” Sam asks.

“What do you mean?” I ask cautiously.

“Do you have leverage over him?” Dean asks.  “Crowley’s King of Hell.  I doubt he’d help an angel out just because she asked nicely.”

“I threatened him.”

“And _you_ can do that?  He’s the king of Hell,” Dean repeats.

I sigh.  “I suppose there’s no reason to hide this from you.  I am an archangel.”

“Uh… what?” Dean says.

“I am an archangel,” I repeat, slower this time.

“No, I get that.  Just… how?”

“Yeah, how is that even possible?” Sam chimes in.  “Aren’t there only four archangels?”

“There were.  Now, I only know of one other besides myself.”

“Michael,” Dean says, startling Sam.  “She told me that Michael’s back.  He was the one who sent her down here—but if you’re an archangel,” he says, turning to me, “how come he still gets to boss you around?  Is it because he promoted you, or something?”

“He gave me these powers in order to assist you,” I tell them.  “He wants me to test the powers of an archangel against a Leviathan, when the time comes.”

It’s a bit of a lie, but I’m sure that that may have been part of his intention.

“Coward,” Dean growls.

I tilt my head.  This is strategic, not cowardly.

“I’m talking about Michael, not you,” he says before I can voice my opinion.  “He’s a damn coward, sending you down here ‘cause he’s too scared to take on the monsters himself.”

“Dean, he is my brother.  He runs Heaven right now.  Try not to speak so ill of him.”

“Some brother he is, making you his guinea pig.  Sam and I would never do that to each other.”

“Sam allowed you to be turned into a vampire,” I remind him.

Sam flinches.  Dean bristles.

“He didn’t have his soul!” Dean protests.  “That doesn’t count.”

“Michael does not have a soul either.  None of us do.”

“Guys, stop,” Sam says.  Dean looks like he’s going to speak up again, but he holds back.  When Sam is sure that Dean’s done, he asks me, “So, apart from calling up old friends, anything else we can do?”

“I don’t think so.  You can go on a hunt in your free time, if you like.  I have work to do.”

“All right, then.  See you,” Sam says.

“Don’t get yourself killed,” Dean adds.

I smile at him.  “I’d be more worried about myself, if I were you.”

* * *

_They’re missing.  They haven’t answered their phones._

_Dean is gone._

_I think that what I am currently experiencing is called “panic.”  Where could they be?  It’s been days, and I haven’t heard from either of them, even though I’ve been searching._

_Could Lucifer or Zachariah have gotten to them?  My whole being turns cold at the thought of losing them, losing hope, losing Dean.  I won’t be able to do anything without them._

_I am nothing without Dean.  I did all of this for him.  If he is gone, what is left?  I still have not found God._

_If only I could just speak to Joshua.  But as soon as I enter the garden, the Host will trap me, and I will have no way to escape Heaven.  The thought sends a chill through me.  Heaven has become a place to be_ escaped _.  It is no longer a safe haven for me, hasn’t been for a while._

_Where_ are _they?_

_I fly faster than I’ve flown in a long time, all senses stretching out, searching for any sign of Sam or Dean._

_I catch a flash of a familiar vehicle and backtrack, finding Dean’s “baby” parked outside what looks like a warehouse.  The Winchesters have been here.  I immediately scour the surrounding area and discover a heavily warded area._

_I land in a dark hallway just outside the warded zone—I couldn’t fly in.  I pound on the doors leading into the room, but nothing happens, so I unfurl my wings and let them manifest before driving them against the doors once, twice, three times._

_As the doors slide open, I cloak my wings again and step into the warded space.  It’s very bright, and—_

_“Cas?” Dean says._

_—_ there _they are.  They stand upon two strange platforms, the purposes of which are dubious.  They’re both half-turned around to face me, and I see that their feet are strapped onto the platforms._

_Are they being tortured?_

_“Is this another trick?” Sam asks a little breathlessly._

_“It’s me,” I say.   “Uh, what are you doing here?”_

_“Us?  What are_ you _doing here?” Dean responds._

_“Looking for you—you’ve been missing for days.”_

_“So get us the hell out of here, then!” Sam says.  His face is red and he looks more than a little desperate to get off the platform._

_“Let’s go,” I say._

_I lift my arms to take Sam and Dean away from this strange room—_

_Everything fades to black._

_I’ve never been truly blinded before, and this ultimate darkness startles me, frightens me.  The fact that my wings are restrained does nothing to help my nerves.  What happened?  Sam said something about tricks, about my appearance being “another trick.”  Could the Trickster have been giving them trouble again?_

_When sight returns to me, I observe that I’m in an empty room.  Sam, Dean, and the strange set-up are all nowhere to be seen._

_This isn’t right.  No Trickster could catch an angel so off-guard.  I think hard for the answer, but it appears that whatever is hindering my wings is tampering with my cognitive abilities as well.  My thoughts feel sluggish._

_And_ I can’t move my wings.

_I pace back and forth and strain against the intangible force that’s pinning them.  I’m a soldier.  An angel of the Lord.  If there’s one thing I should be able to do, it should be to control my wings.  As soon as his concentration slips, even the slightest bit, I will make my escape._

_I stop walking and put in more effort, every fiber of my being wrestling the hold on me._

_An indeterminable amount of time later, I give up and hurl myself against one of the walls.  A crack is left behind—maybe I can do without my wings for now.  The Winchesters need me.  Dean needs me._

_Keeping this in mind, I back up against the far wall and charge, smashing out of my prison.  My wings snap free once I’m out of the room, and I immediately reach out, searching for them._

_I locate them only a few doors down.  We appear to be in an abandoned laboratory building.  But as I walk toward their door, I notice that a strange design has been painted against the wall opposite, creating an illusion of the outdoors._

_I turn away from the illusion and open the door.  The brothers turn to face me—they’re standing in what looks like a duplicate of the type of motel rooms in which they normally stay on the road… except that it’s much brighter and decorated in a manner that Dean would probably consider “girly.”_

_“You okay?” Dean asks._

_“I don’t have much time,” I respond._

_“What happened?” Sam asks._

_“I got out,” I reply._

_“From where?”_

_“Listen to me.  Something is not right.  This thing is much more powerful than it should be.”_

_“What thing—the Trickster?” Dean asks._

_“If it_ is _a trickster,” I say._

_“What do you mean?” Sam asks._

_Before I can answer, I am jerked back by my wings and collide painfully with the wall.  A strip of something sticky covers my mouth, and I recognize its composition as duct tape.  I can’t disintegrate it._

_“Hello!” the Trickster says from the doorway._

_I force myself back onto my feet.  The Trickster is for some reason thanking someone.  But I don’t see anyone in the room other than us—there have been sounds that suggest an audience watching from elsewhere, but it must be another part of the trick._

_“Hi, Castiel!” the Trickster says with a large smile._

_I glare at him, and he waves a hand in my direction._

_All is black again._

_But now I know who he is.  I start to move and realize that I am now completely immobilized, except for my head.  The duct tape, thankfully, is gone.  It was unpleasant._

_With his powers, he could keep me here indefinitely.  I’m incapable of defending Sam and Dean._

_I pray for Father to hear me and free me, so that I can save them.  If He went to the trouble of keeping us alive once, surely He would not want us to die here, as well.  But yet again, my prayers go unheard or unanswered, and I begin to curse Him._

_If He wanted us dead, why did He bother saving us when Lucifer rose?_

_In the total darkness, I am unaware of the passage of time, but I eventually feel a light pull on me.  What’s happening?_

_The restraints around me snap apart, and I have a microsecond of freedom before I’m jerked backwards through space.  It’s a disorienting experience, and I flap my wings to regain control over my flight._

_I’m dropped on my feet a short distance away from Sam and Dean.  To my surprise, the “Trickster” is trapped in a ring of holy fire._

_“Cas, you okay?” Dean asks._

_“I’m fine,” I respond.  “Hello, Gabriel.”_

_“Hey, bro.  How’s the search for Daddy going?  Let me guess: awful.”_

_I only glare at him._

_“Okay, we’re out of here.  Come on, Sam,” Dean says, turning to leave._

_“Uh, okay.  Guys?” Gabriel says as Sam goes to follow Dean.  “So, so what?  Huh?”_

_I also turn around to follow Dean out.  I’d like to question Gabriel about our Father, but he’s been away from Heaven for so long that the chances of him knowing where He is are slim._

_“You’re just gonna, you’re gonna leave me here forever?” Gabriel calls._

_Dean pauses by the door and turns back to look at the archangel, at my brother.  “No, we’re not,” he says, “‘cause we don’t screw with people the way you do.  And for the record?  This isn’t about some prize fight between your brothers, or some destiny that can’t be stopped.  This is about_ you _being too afraid to stand up to your family.”_

_After he finishes speaking, he pulls the fire alarm, and the sprinklers near the ceiling go off._

_“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Dean says._

_Then he exits the room, followed closely by Sam.  I glance back at my brother and briefly consider questioning him.  But he’s glaring steadily in my direction, his expression probably intended more for Dean than for me.  It’s safest to keep away from him, at least for now._

_I follow them out of the building and over to the Impala._


	10. It's the Sense of Touch

I reenter Heaven and go straight to the garden.  Joshua provides Michael’s location and informs me that he has not heard from God in a very long time.

I tell him that I’m not surprised, hardly disappointed.  I’ve accepted his disinterest in our lives.  I only wish the Leviathans knew how little He cares about _any_ of us.  Then perhaps they wouldn’t be so focused on destroying every last one of us.

I arrive at a barren place.  This can’t be any man’s version of Heaven, can it?

“Thinking space,” Michael says.

It’s his human voice.  He’s still in a young John Winchester’s body.

“Castiel, why are you here?  You have a job to be doing.”

“I… seek advice.”

Michael turns to face me, and a small smile is on his face.  “Ask, brother.”

“There’s a bond…”

Michael’s smile fades slightly.  “Yes, I sensed that.  His soul is tethered to you.  It is not…”

There’s a pause, but I wait for him to continue.

“It’s not natural,” he finally says.  “Humans and angels should not be able to bond.  It implies a connection on the deepest level, and a human soul will never be able to come into direct contact with Grace.”

“I know that,” I say, flinching at the memory of Dean’s scream when my Grace marked his soul.  “Is there any way to reverse or negate the bond?”

“Not that I know of.  If anything, it should have ended when you died, but when I rebuilt you, the connection formed on its own.  I could not remove it.”

I frown.  “Should I be worried?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t have all the answers, and Father is gone.  Perhaps if you ask nicely, Death would give you the answers you need.”

I wince.  “I was less than courteous to him while I… while I had the souls from Purgatory to support me.”

“All the more reason to ask to speak with him.  Apologize.  He’s gentler toward those with female appearances, anyway.”

“He’ll know that it’s me.”

“Yes, of course he will.  But he’ll be gentler.  Think about it, at least.  He is the only being who may be as old as God.”

“If not older.”

Michael and I stiffen at the new voice—not much can sneak past an archangel, and while I am still discovering my new powers, Michael is difficult to surprise.

“I heard my name mentioned,” he continues.  “It’s been some time since I last saw you, Michael.  It was unkind, leaving Sam’s soul behind with Lucifer.”

“I did what I had to.”

Death nods.  “I suppose you did.”  He fixes his eyes on me.

“I’m sorry,” I say.  “I wasn’t myself.”

A humorless smile stretches his thin lips.  “Clearly.  Your arrogance astounded me.”

I remain silent.

“Well, groveling always annoyed me,” he says a moment later.  “As your apology was sincere, I’ll accept.  Now, I understand you’re worried about a bond?”

“Between myself and Dean Winchester, yes.”

“So he finally touched the brand,” Death says to Michael.

“He did,” Michael confirms.

“What happened?” Death asks me.

I blink once, surprised.  “What theoretically should happen whenever bonds form,” I reply.  “It’s… the separation is difficult.”

“You’ve never created a bond before, so you don’t have first-hand experience of how it should feel, am I correct?” Death asks.

I nod.

“Interesting,” he says.  “How attached was he?”

“I… don’t know.”

“But you didn’t complete the process.”

I shake my head.  “His soul would not survive it.  He’d be burned to death.  I couldn’t do that to him.”

Michael speaks up.  “Did he ask for more contact?”

These questions make me uneasy.  I feel like there’s something that they’re not telling me.  But there isn’t much I can do against these two.  Death himself may be as old as—or older than—time, and Michael was the very first angel created.  Compared to them, my lifespan may as well be the length of that of a fruit fly in relation to that of a human.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Did he ask for something of yours?” Michael continues.

I frown.  Is that a natural thing, then?  Something that was supposed to happen?

“So he did,” Michael says quietly.  He turns to face Death.  “What do you think?”

“This is unprecedented.  And certainly dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” I repeat before Death can continue.  “Tell me what you two are talking about.”

“The bond is dangerous,” Michael says.  “Dean is at a point where it’s near physically painful to be away from you for any length of time.  This might be because there was a gap of almost three years between the formation of the brand and your first touch upon it—time intensifies the need.”

“Then I will watch over him where he cannot see me,” I tell them.

“That might help, but it won’t be enough.  He needs to at least see you, if not feel you, to truly ease the pain,” Michael says.

“No—I’ve seen bonded angels before.  They don’t have to—”

“Because their bonds are already complete,” Michael interrupts.  “They don’t need physical contact to be there for each other.  Clearly, that isn’t the case for you and Dean Winchester.”

“Then what can I do?” I ask, looking between them.

“I cannot interfere,” Death says.  “This isn’t within my power.”

Michael shakes his head.  “These brands don’t become bonds unless there’s something mutual that holds two individuals together—that’s why I’m so perplexed.  I… don’t understand how this could have happened.  It shouldn’t be possible between a mortal and an immortal.”

“So there’s no way out,” I say.  “To ease the pain, I should stay near him?”

Michael shakes his head again and runs a hand through his hair, and I wonder if this is a motion that he adopted from his vessel.  “The problem with staying close is that you’ll both desire completion,” he says.  “You may be able to hold back because you’re an angel, and you know the consequences, but he’ll be fighting for it subconsciously.”

My mouth goes dry.  If I stay away, he’ll be in pain.  If I stay with him, he’ll crave more.  If I give in, my Grace will burn up his soul.  The only words that seem to adequately describe our situation are “fucked up.”

“Really, it’s up to you,” Michael says.  “Just be careful, whatever you choose.”

I want to throttle him.  He’s treating the situation so lightly, as though this is a choice I can make on the spot.

But it isn’t his fault.  I was the one who put the mark on Dean.  I was the one who activated our bond.  I am the one to blame.

“You could tell him the truth,” Death muses.  “After all, it is _his_ soul that’s at stake.  He may be a human, but he can still be given some say in the fate of his own soul.”

I look Death in the face and shake my head firmly.  “I will not allow his soul to be endangered again.”

Death’s thin lips stretch into a smirk this time.  “I expected as much.  This will be fascinating to watch.”

Without another word, he disappears.

“I would help if I could, but…” Michael’s voice trails off.

“You can’t.  I understand,” I say.  “I have two more questions for you.”

He looks almost amused.  “Joshua wasn’t lying when he said you were an inquisitive one.  Ask.”

“The first is a request for permission,” I say.  “Bobby Singer.  I have reconstructed his body, and I would like to remove his soul from Heaven to restore him.”

Michael nods.  “Do as you wish.”

“Thank you, brother.”

“Of course.  And your other question?”

“Why did it take so long for you to bring me back?” I ask.

He considers this for a moment.  “You said that you recreated Bobby Singer.  You would have had to rebuild him from scratch, yes?”

I nod.

“It is far more difficult to rebuild an angel—and an archangel, at that—than it is to create a human.  Add to that the fact that I had never even met you myself.  I’d say a few months’ time was perfectly reasonable for the task.  And besides, I am not our Father.  Angels cannot simply be raised.”

I realize that I wouldn’t even know where to begin in order to create Grace.

Michael smiles.  “So you understand.”

“Yes.  But then… why me?  Why not bring back your other brothers?”

“I’ve not been idle,” Michael says.  “Balthazar was my first attempt at recreating an angel, to make sure I could do it.  You were my second.  Since your resurrection, I’ve been working on Gabriel.  He may have run away from home, but he died defending our Father’s kingdom from Lucifer.  I… I would very much like to see him again, after all this time.”

“And… Raphael?”

Michael stiffens.  “I am aware that you killed him.  But you are also a brother of mine, and you were trying to protect the ones you love.  That I understand.  He was doing the same—it’s just that you were successful while he was not.  But he is still my brother, and I will restore him.”

It isn’t a surprise that he would choose Raphael over me.  “If it is your will,” I say.

“It is,” he replies.

We maintain eye contact for a moment.  “I will leave now.”

He doesn’t respond, and I spread my wings to take off for Bobby’s realm.

I arrive moments later at his realm, shaped to look like his repair yard.  Upon seeing the rows and rows of junk cars, I remember the fleeting thought I’d had about restoring his actual home, on Earth.  Perhaps later, if he asks me to.

Then I hear wings flapping, and Eremiel lands beside me.

“Castiel,” he says.  “It has been… a long time.”

I drop my eyes to the ground.  “Yes.”

“I have been keeping watch over Dean Winchester, from a distance.”

“You… why?”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a long sigh.  “I suppose it became habit, after having done so for almost two years.  It was impossible to let go, to not know what was happening to him, even if I had no orders to protect him, no reason to interfere.”

After a moment of silence, I say, “I apologize.”

“For nearly killing me?” Eremiel says.  Then he shakes his head.  “I could see the darkness inside you, brother.  I saw it clouding your judgment, swaying your decisions.  What the souls did—”

“It was still my fault.  It was still me,” I say.  “I saw everything that I did.  I… I remember everything.”

“No,” he says.  “No, it was not your fault.  Not what happened after you declared yourself God.  But before that…”  He sighs again.  “Tell me the truth.  Did you kill Rachel?”

“So you did suspect.”

He nods.  “You said that it was Virgil, but he… I killed him right before we met up.  He was disoriented and alone, and I took advantage.  I knew you were lying, but I knew it would be unwise to accuse you.  Did you… did you do it?”

“Yes.”

Pained silence.

Then he asks in a small voice, “Why?”

I feel hollow.  “Because she had heard.  I don’t know where she heard of my deal… my deal with Crowley, but she did.  I couldn’t lose to Raphael, and I knew that she would try to stop me, ask others to join her ranks—you, for instance.  I know it does not excuse my crime, but I… I just…”

“You had to,” Eremiel finishes for me, and my eyes flit up to his for the first time, surprised.  “You had to be the vessel,” he says, louder now.  “You are the only angel who could have retained control—”

At this, a cold laugh rips out of my throat, and even I am startled by the sound.  “Control?  I didn’t have any _control_ , Eremiel.  You know what I did.  You were there.  I forced you and the others to stand by and watch as I slaughtered so many of our brothers and sisters.”

“But Raphael would have killed us all.  You… you allowed those who stood against you to choose a second chance.  You allowed them to live, even if they were not completely sincere.  If Raphael had been the vessel, Heaven would be barren,” Eremiel says.

I close my eyes.  “Where are the other survivors?  I am sure they are not as understanding as you are.”

“Of course not,” Eremiel says with a sigh.  “But Michael has decreed that we must learn to evolve.  We are not cannon fodder anymore, not mindless soldiers.  You tried to teach us about free will, but we did not understand.  We tried, but we did not try hard enough.  I speak for all when I say that we will follow Michael faithfully.  And as long as he trusts you, so shall we.”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“Nevertheless, you have it.”  A small smile stretches his lips.  “I remember what you told us about Dean, back when we all still referred to him as ‘the Righteous Man’—that he stabbed you, thought you had dark reasons for dragging him out of the depths of Hell.  That he didn’t believe good things could happen.  That he did not believe he deserved to be saved.

“Now listen to yourself, Castiel.  You don’t _deserve_ our forgiveness?”  His smile widens.  “You remind me very much of the Righteous Man whom you rescued from the Pit, the one whose safety you entrusted to me.  If you feel you do not deserve our forgiveness, earn it back.  You have been brought back from the abyss yet again for a reason.  You may think of yourself as worthy of nothing, but your Grace is pure.  I see it.  Even if the others do not want to acknowledge it, they can see it as well.”

I look away.  “That is only because Michael—”

“Taint does not wash away in death,” Eremiel reasons.  “If you were tainted, Michael would not have been able to bring you back pure.”

Eremiel’s acceptance of my actions makes me uncomfortable.  I have avoided other angels thus far, certain that they would not accept me, that their reluctance to assist me was surely the reason that necessitated Balthazar’s resurrection.  Though Eremiel has confirmed that to be the case for most of the angels, he has also proven that they might forgive me.

But I killed so many.  The details have become hazed over with the dark ooze that crowded the edges of my mind, but I can’t remember allowing many angels to survive.

My brother sighs, bringing me back to the present.  “We understand your choice, and we still consider you our brother,” he says.  “But I see that you are not ready to forgive yourself yet.  Just… remember that we are here.  That you still have a family… here.”

I nod once.  “I… thank you, Eremiel.”

He smiles one more time before taking off, leaving me among the rows of cars in need of repair.  I swallow around the lump that has formed in my throat.  I had not considered earning forgiveness from my brothers, for I had known and accepted my crimes and the consequences.  I still knew on some level that forgiveness was attainable, though.

But compassion?  Never had I even _dreamed_ of receiving compassion from any brother other than Balthazar.  I cannot believe that Eremiel, one of the few angels who had to witness me at my very worst, is now the one who shows such concern for me.

I take a moment to compose myself, bringing my attention back to the task at hand.

Upon entering the house, I see a woman.  This is the soul of Karen Singer—Bobby’s wife.  I hadn’t realized that this was a shared realm.

“Oh, hello,” she says, turning to face me with a welcoming smile.  “Who are you?”

“I am a friend of Bobby’s.  Is he here?”

“You’ve come to take him away,” she says softly.

Bobby enters from another room before I have the chance to respond.  “Right here, Cas,” he says.  “Are you desperate enough to actually need my help, now?”

I shake my head.  “No.  You gave me enough last time.  I know about Richard Griech and the Leviathans’ plan.”

“Balls,” Bobby mutters.  Then he says bitterly, “What’re you doin’ here if you don’t need me?”

“I made you a promise.  I intend to keep it.”

Bobby looks surprised, and his wife sighs regretfully.

“You really are leaving, then,” she says.

“Those two idjits need my help.  They’re… they’re like my sons,” Bobby responds.

She looks at him and smiles.  “If they’re like your children, then they’re like mine, too.  Don’t worry—I’ll be waiting here when you’re ready to let go.”

Bobby kisses his wife softly before stepping toward me.  “Will it hurt?” he asks.

“You won’t feel a thing.  I’ll make sure of that.”

He nods once.  “I’m ready, then.  Bye, Karen.”

She smiles again.  “Bye.”

I take Bobby’s elbow and fly down to Earth.  The image of him dissipates as we enter the human realm, leaving his glowing soul in my grasp.  I land beside his body, the one that I created for him, and gently slot him into place, letting the light of his soul fade into his chest.

Then I press down on his chest once, twice.

It’s agonizingly silent for a moment, and then his heart starts beating, and his mouth falls open as he gasps for air.  About thirty seconds later, his eyes open, and he looks around warily.  He starts trying to lift his head, but I press down lightly on his forehead.

“Rest, Bobby.  You are not fully recovered yet.”

He holds still for about another minute before trying again.  I lift him into a sitting position and watch as his eyes roam the warehouse.

“How do you feel?” I ask.

Bobby draws in a deep breath and turns to look at me, a rare, genuine smile on his face.  “You really did it.”

“Of course.  I promised.”

“Yes, but I figured… if you’d figured everything out already, you’d decide not to do it.  Because I’d be unnecessary at that point.”

“Bobby, you are far from unnecessary.”

Bobby reaches up and pulls the cap off his head.  “You even made my cap,” he says, a bit of wonder in his voice.  “Did you have to rebuild everything from scratch?”

I nod.  “Sam and Dean cremated you.  I had nothing to work with but my memory of your soul.”

His brow scrunches, and he says, “For the phoenix ash, right?”

I nod again.

He shudders.  “I hope that never has to happen again,” he says as he gets to his feet.  He takes a few experimental steps.  “I feel… younger,” he observes.

“I may have brought you back eight to ten years younger,” I say.  “It was very difficult to reach the correct age.  My mistake,” I add with a wink.

I get to my feet as well, and he pulls me into a short hug.

“Thanks, Cas.”

“Please call me Camael.”

Bobby sighs heavily.  “I should have expected that you wouldn’t listen to me.  Why should you listen to my advice about Dean, anyway?  It’s not as though I know him as well as a son or anything.”

“I am sorry, Bobby.  I can’t face him.”

“Idjit,” Bobby mutters.  “Fine.  You brought me back, so I’ll let you tell him on your own when you’re done bein’ a goddamn coward.”

“Thank you.”

He looks annoyed by my gratitude.  “All right, _Camael_ , can you take me to them?”

I nod and press my fingers to his forehead, shifting through space and landing in the motel room an instant later.

Sam and Dean both jump, then look at us warily.

“Bobby?” Sam says hesitantly.

Dean looks like he’s trying not to believe his eyes.

“Boys,” Bobby says, but he can’t get anything else out—I can hear him choking up.

Sam takes a step toward Bobby, but Dean holds a hand out, stopping him.

“Camael, explain.”

“I brought him back,” I say, a bit redundantly.

“But he was in Heaven,” Sam says.  “Are you allowed to—”

“He asked for it,” I interrupt.  “He wanted to come back to help you two.”

Dean frowns.  “We should check—”

But before he can finish speaking, Sam’s throwing his arms around Bobby.

“What a girl,” Dean mutters.

“It really is him, Dean,” I say as Sam proceeds to squeeze the life out of his mentor.

Dean locks eyes with me for a moment before giving in and joining the hug.  It doesn’t last long, but the reunion is touching.  I turn away and spread my wings to go, but a large hand clamps down on my shoulder, and I hesitate.

“Don’t go yet,” Dean says.

“I have to,” I respond without looking at him.

He tightens his grip and steps around to glare at me.  Then he looks over the top of my head and says, “Sam, Bobby.  Camael and I are going out for a drive.”

“Dean, I—”

He grabs my hand and starts hauling me toward the door, clearly ignoring me.  I allow him to lead me outside, remembering what Michael and Death had said about our bond.  Should I leave now?

Dean pushes me into the car and gets in on the driver’s side.

A few minutes later, we’re parked on a small dirt road, a turnoff from the highway.

“Dean, I need to go.”

“If that were true, you’d be gone already.”

I don’t respond.  Dean reaches over and grasps my left hand in his, rubbing over the knuckles gently, and lets out a shallow sigh of relief.

“I’m trying to hold it together, but I can’t stop thinking about… about it.”

One brief peek inside his head tells me that he’d been about to say that he can’t stop thinking about the feeling of _Cas_ being so near.

“Dean—”

“Just one more time.  One last time.”

“Dean—”

“Please.”

“Dean, _no_ ,” I say firmly.  “No.”

I can see the pain of rejection on his face and instantly want to take it back.  But each time I touch his soul, we move one step closer to _that_ ending.  And I won’t let his soul burn.  In this I will not compromise.  He seems to get that I won’t let it happen again, because he turns his head away and lets his forehead fall against the steering wheel.

“Dean,” I say, brushing his hand off and lifting both of my hands to turn his face toward me, “please understand that what’s happened between us has already gone too far.  We can’t do it anymore.”

He leans toward me, and I frown.  He understands English, doesn’t he?

“Screw that,” he mutters before pressing his lips to mine.

I spread my wings, intending to fly away, but his tongue forces its way between my lips—and in all rights it shouldn’t be able to do that, so perhaps I’m not fighting as hard as I should be—and coaxes me to respond.  I allow my hands to slide forward, cradling the back of his head as the kiss deepens.

When we part, I’m breathing hard, and it’s frightening how _human_ I feel.

“Why… why can’t I resist you?” I demand between quick kisses.

“What can I say?” he murmurs against my lips as we catch our breaths.  “I’m like a drug.”

His hands are resting near my shoulder blades, and when his fingers dig in slightly, a moan leaves my throat, unbidden.

“Whoa,” he says.

I start backing away, but he keeps his hold on me and repeats the motion, making me gasp.  Those are the attachment points for my wings that he’s pressing on.  How does he know where they are?  Another embarrassing sound escapes me as he massages the pressure point, but this time he groans in response.

“Do you have any idea how hot you sound?  I could come just listening to you,” he breathes.

I open my mouth to speak, but another press from his fingers causes my wings to spasm, and his name slips from my lips in a low moan.

“This should not be as hot as it is,” Dean mumbles.

“Don’t, Dean.  I… I can’t control my wings when you do that.”

“Your wings?  You mean you can’t take off?”

I resist the urge to clock myself in the head.  I should not have told him that, if the eagerness in his voice is anything to go by.

“Those are the attachment points for my wings,” I inform him.  “They’re very sensitive.”

“Yeah, I figured that out,” Dean says, rubbing over the spots gently.

Tingles go up and down my wings at his touch, and I briefly allow myself to indulge in the fantasy of allowing him to run his fingers through my feathers.  How would that feel?

But this must stop.  I push his arms away from me and hold his hands down.  He struggles briefly before realizing that it’s useless.  He can’t move his hands unless I allow him to.

“I am leaving, Dean.  Please don’t try to isolate us again.  I will not stay next time.”

“You sure you’ll be able to resist me?”

“I’m an angel—I could resist you anytime,” I respond automatically, as though if I say it emphatically enough, it’ll be true.

Dean gives me an odd look, and I don’t understand what it means.  Then he says, “Thanks.”

Puzzling.  “For what?” I ask.

“For bringing Bobby back.  You told me a bunch of crap before about how people had to die, and that it was the way of things.  I just… thanks for making an exception for Bobby, too.”

I blink at him.  “What?”

Panic sets in, but I hide it carefully.  He’s bluffing.  He’s testing me, like Bobby did.  He’s trying to provoke a response.  I hold back a shudder.  He _suspects_.

“You don’t remember?” he says.  “After Alastair—”

“Dean,” I interrupt, placing a curious expression on my face, “what are you talking about?”

“Catching Alastair.”

“I’ve only faced him once, and he nearly killed me,” I lie in an even voice.

Dean narrows his eyes, and I pray that he’ll believe me.  Please, let him believe me.

“Dean, are you all right?” I ask in a voice tinged with concern.

His eyes are fixed on mine, and then it’s as though something inside him shatters.  He crumbles, and I hate that I am the cause of it.

“I’m sorry,” he says.  “I just… you sounded so much like Cas, and your eyes, and I just wish—”

“Dean, it’s all right,” I say, putting my arms around him.  He needs comfort, and his soul noticeably relaxes when I rub his back gently.

“Camael, what’s happening?”

“Uh… I am… hugging you?” I try.  “I don’t understand the question.”

He huffs out a short laugh.  “No, I figured that part.  I mean this.  Between us.  What’s going on?  And don’t say nothing.  The… the craving’s only gotten stronger on my end, and I keep wanting to take your feather out, but Sam’s always in the room, and—”

Now that the words have started, Dean can’t seem to stop, so I try to give him a bit of help.  “Shh… shh.  Slow down,” I say in what is hopefully a soothing tone.

He takes a deep breath.  “Just… tell me.  I know something’s up.”

“It… is not of import.”

He backs up a bit to look at me.  “That’s…” he starts, but he pauses and shakes his head again.  “Never mind.  Don’t avoid the question.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.  Is it really bad?”

I tighten my arms around him briefly.  “Goodbye, Dean.”

“Damn it, Cam—”

Before he finishes saying my borrowed name, I flap my wings, and his arms pass through me as I shift into the other dimension.  He looks like the wind has just been knocked out of him.

“Damn angels,” he grunts, getting out of the car and slamming the door behind him.

He leans against the driver’s door and glares at his surroundings.  I reach my right wing out and try brushing it against his cheek.  Of course, I don’t feel it because I’m incorporeal.

I wait for Dean to get back in the car before leaving.  Emptiness quickly closes in, and I find myself longing for the days when I had no free will.  Returning to Dean would not have been a choice that I could make, and orders to stay away would be followed without question.

I retreat to Heaven and stand alone for a long time.


	11. Futility

_“You won’t find Him, you know.”_

_I don’t have to turn around to know who is speaking.  “Hello, Gabriel.”_

_“Hey, bro.”_

_When he doesn’t say anything else, curiosity gets the better of me, and I turn around to look at him.  He’s studying me quietly._

_“_ You _are one tenacious little fella, aren’t you?” he finally comments.  “I didn’t think the first room would hold you for long, but you got outta there_ way _faster than I thought you would.  Good thing I didn’t take any bets.  Oh wait, I don’t have anyone left to bet against.  Hmm.”_

_He is peculiar.  I remember meeting him once before, centuries upon centuries ago, but I don’t think he was this talkative._

_“Well anyway, sorry about the trap, and all the… rest of it.”_

_“You are… apologizing,” I say._

_“Yes.”_

_“Why?  You were never one to apologize.”  That much I know for sure about him._

_“Because you, out here, looking for Daddy?  Reminds me of myself, when I was naïve and didn’t know any better.  When I thought our Father still gave a damn.”_

_“How can you say that?”_

_Gabriel laughs harshly.  “Bro, when you’ve seen as much as I have, you’ll know He doesn’t care anymore.  He stopped caring a_ long _time ago.”_

_“How can you have so little faith in your own Father?”_

_“He made Michael throw Luci into Hell, Castiel.  Our own brother.  For saying that humans were unworthy, which… well, they sort of are.  How can you still have faith in a Father who is that capricious?”_

_“Does that mean you support Lucifer, then?”_

_Gabriel glares at me.  “I thought I made it clear that I am on nobody’s_ side _.  I am sick and tired of this family drama, and I want it to be_ over _.”_

_“God could put a stop to this, if we could just find Him,” I say._

_“Oh, Castiel,” Gabriel says, shaking his head.  “I don’t know whether I should laugh at you or just feel sorry for you.  God_ left _.  He’s gone, and He’s not coming back.  Not for you, not for me, not for Michael or Luci either.”_

_I open my mouth to respond, but upon hearing my name, I pause.  Gabriel cocks his head to the side, and I can tell he’s listening as well._

Hey, Cas.  Got a lead on the Colt.  Need you to stop by, help us out.

_“Ah, it’s your boyfriend,” Gabriel says._

_I spread my wings, but he holds out a hand, grounding me.  “Gabriel—” I start to protest._

_“Don’t take this as anything more than it is, because it isn’t.  I just want to warn you: don’t fall in love with him, with Dean Winchester.  Loving a human is painful.  And stupid.”_

_“We are supposed to love all humans,” I counter._

_“This is different, and you know it.”  Then he sighs.  “But if you’re in denial, it’s probably already too late.”_

_“I… admire him.  That is all there is,” I say._

_“Sure.  That’s just how it starts.”_

_I fix my eyes on him.  “Speaking from experience?”_

_He narrows his eyes at me before snapping his fingers and disappearing.  Half a beat later, my wings are free again, and I take off._

_“Dude, what the hell took you so long?” Dean demands as soon as I appear._

_“I was… never mind,” I say.  “The Colt?”_

_“Yeah,” Dean says.  “So there’s this demon, Crowley…”_

* * *

It takes longer to return to equilibrium this time.  My wings tremble, but running my own fingers through them is completely useless.  I need Dean.

“Sam’s been fine for the past half hour,” Balthazar says as he appears before me.  “ _Now_ can we discuss the reason why you look like you’re dying?”

I shake my head at him, forcing my wings to be as still as possible.  “Go back to Sam,” I say.  I’d sent him a few minutes after returning to Heaven.  But apparently, my appearance was— _is_ —cause for concern.

“Cas, there is clearly something off with you.  Now tell me what happened.”

“I… no.”

I turn my back to him and extend one wing in his direction.

“Uh… Cas?”

I don’t respond.

“Is this an invitation?” Balthazar asks hesitantly.

I’ve never let my wings be touched, except by another angel’s wings, and even then, the contact was limited.  Brief.  Oh, and of course, there was the time when Raphael ripped all my feathers out.  And the time when they were nearly torn apart by hundreds of demons.  I shudder at the memories.

Then Balthazar’s fingers are carefully touching the feathers on my left wing.  It’s a soothing sensation, and I begin to understand why some angels like having their wings petted.  I never liked the idea.

“Cas, Michael gave you a fantastic set of wings,” Balthazar says, stroking a little more boldly.  “I’m almost jealous,” he adds, a teasing edge in his voice.

Eventually I fold my wing back, and Balthazar moves around me to see my face.

“I’m guessing that was a test,” he says.  I only frown at him.  “You’re testing to see what it feels like for someone else to touch your wings,” he says.  “Who have you bonded yourself to?”

“Bond?  I never said—”

“You wouldn’t be testing it out unless your mate touched your wings.”

“And you think this because?”

“Because I’ve bonded before, and I know how delightfully distracting the right touch is on my wings,” he says as though it’s obvious.

I recall his short-lived bond with Leliel.  Balthazar had been devastated when Leliel was killed by Michael for supporting Lucifer.  It was like a part of him had gone, and while he’d continued to stand and fight alongside our garrison, he didn’t look the same.  The fire went out of his eyes.  Now, numerous millennia later, he has some of that old spark back, but his brilliance is still duller than it once was.  I doubt he will ever be whole again.

Then he’s frowning.  “But you can’t have bonded with anyone.  I haven’t sensed you in another angel’s presence—except for Michael, but I think it’s safe to say that he’s off the table.  There was also Eremiel, but we all know he’s never going to bond with anyone, so…”

“Balthazar, stop.”

He freezes then, realization dawning upon his face.  “Oh, dear,” he sighs.  “What _have_ you done, brother?”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen.  It just did.”

“How is that even possible?  His soul—”

“I don’t know,” I say, helplessness seeping into my words.  “I don’t know what I can do.  I don’t know how the bond formed.  All I know is that I can’t stay near him, I can’t stay away from him, and I want him to touch my wings.”

Balthazar sighs heavily.  “Cas…” he says, shaking his head.  “This sort of thing could really only happen to you.”

Maybe this is another way in which I’m different.  At this point, I’ve stumbled upon so many differences between myself and the others that another one doesn’t matter.  I might as well not be an angel—I’m such an anomaly among us.

“I don’t suppose the bond could be broken?” Balthazar says.

“I already asked Michael.  He said no,” I reply.  “Do you think I should tell Dean?”

“Yes, of course.  Honesty between lovers is important.”

“I am being very serious, and I do not appreciate your attempt to make light of the situation.”

“Sorry, Cas,” he says, shaking his head.  “Well… I would reveal my identity first, Cas.  It’s more important.  I never liked Dean much, but… you care enough about him that I need to as well.”

“What if he won’t speak to me?”

“I’m certain he will,” Balthazar says.  “Now, this bond… how strong is it?”

I don’t bother to respond verbally, lifting my eyes to his face.  I can see from his expression that he understands.

“Well, then,” he says.  “I advise you to stay away from him for a few days.  If it’s as strong as I think it is, his soul may be able to sense your presence in the room, even if his conscious self has no idea.  If you really need to check on them, I can do so for you.  I’ll be following Sam’s head around, anyway.”

“What if he calls for me?”

“Ignore it.  You have very strict self-discipline.  I can certainly attest to that.”

But in matters related to Dean, I’ve already shown a lack of self-restraint that worries me.

“Don’t think too much, Cas,” he says.  “Now I’d better go before Sam the giant loses his mind.  If you’re too worried, drop in.  I’ll keep my mind open.”

I nod, and he pats my shoulder once before taking off.  I track his progress to Earth and decide to stretch my wings.  Where and when do I want to go?  It is still so strange to have this sort of choice.  I don’t have orders to go anywhere or do anything.

Perhaps I’ll return to ancient Greece.  Their creativity with respect to religion has always intrigued me.  I wonder how they managed to get so far from the truth.  God must have been around at that time.  It’s strange that He would allow them to stray so far.

Making up my mind, I center my focus on Olympia, 776 BC.

* * *

_I don’t know if I’ve ever seen so many reapers at once.  Something is coming—that much is certain.  It makes me uneasy.  They would not—could not—harm an angel, but they could certainly turn on any of the humans in town with me._

_I sense a pair of eyes on me and look up to see a reaper staring at me through the window._

_Frowning, I fly up to follow him.  He moves down a narrow hallway and disappears into a dark room, and I follow.  Perhaps he will be able to tell me something._

_“Hello, brother.”_

_A flash of white light._

* * *

_I become aware of flames flickering around me.  My wings stretch out a little, but when they come into contact with the fire, I feel a sharp burn and pull them back in.  I turn, looking around the room to determine where I might be, who could have captured me._

_And then I see him—his presence is unmistakable, and the room turns chillier as he steps into view._

_“Lucifer.”_

_“So I take it you’re here with the Winchesters,” he says, starting to pace._

_“I came alone,” I bluff._

_He stops walking.  “Loyalty.  Such a nice quality to see in this day and age.  Castiel, right?”_

_I nod slightly._

_“Castiel,” he repeats, rolling my name around on his tongue as though he’s trying it out.  “I’m told you came here in an automobile.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“What was that like?”_

_The question surprises me.  “Um, slow.  Confining.”_

_“What a peculiar thing you are,” he comments thoughtfully._

_Then I get a better look at Lucifer and see burn marks, flesh wounds on his skin.  “What’s wrong with your vessel?”_

_“Yes, um.  Nick is wearing a bit thin, I’m afraid.  He can’t contain me forever, so—”_

_“You—” I start to step forward, but I can’t cross the flames without dying.  I settle for glaring at him from where I stand.  “You are not taking Sam Winchester.  I won’t let you.”_

_“Castiel, I don’t understand why you’re fighting_ me _, of all the angels.”_

_“You really have to ask?”_

_“I rebelled, I was cast out.  You rebelled, you were cast out.  Almost all of Heaven wants to see me dead, and if they succeed, guess what?  You’re their new public enemy number one.  We’re on the same side, like it or not, so why not just serve your own best interests?  Which, in this case, just happen to be mine.”_

_I meet his eyes steadily.  “I’ll die first.”_

_He seems to lift the truth from my gaze.  “I suppose you will,” he says, sounding disappointed._

_He starts pacing again, and I turn my eyes away from him, looking around the room for anything I could use to escape.  Sam, Dean, Jo, and Ellen are all still out there._

_I should not have come here._

* * *

_Lucifer’s been gone for a length of time—I can’t tell how long.  I don’t know what he’s doing, but it can’t be good.  He left Meg here with me, presumably to make sure that I won’t be able to escape._

_She has the Winchesters trapped.  They could be dead already, for all I know.  The thought almost hurts me physically._

_Dean could be dead._

_I shy away from the possibility and focus on the bolts that are holding the pipe in place.  Just a few more, and this plan can be set in motion.  If I can do nothing else, I can at least kill the demon responsible for the Winchesters’…_ not _-death._

_They can’t be dead, not now.  If they are, I will never forgive myself for letting them out of my sight._

_“You seem pleased,” I say, looking at the demon._

_She smiles widely.  “We’re gonna win.  Can you feel it?  You cloud-hopping pansies lost the whole damn universe.  Lucifer’s going to take over Heaven.  We’re going to Heaven, Clarence.”_

_“Strange, because I heard a different theory from a demon named Crowley.”_

_She looks… upset by the mention of his name.  “You don’t know Crowley.”_

_“He believes Lucifer is just using demons to achieve an end, and that, once he does, he’ll destroy you all,” I continue, stepping forward.  This proves to be an excellent move, for she steps forward as well, straight into the projected path of motion that the pipe will take, once I separate it from the wall._

_“You’re wrong,” she says vehemently.  “Lucifer is the father of our race.  Our creator.  Your god may be a deadbeat.  Mine… mine walks the earth.”_

_One last spin, and the pipe swings forward, slamming into Meg’s back and throwing her into me.  I hold her to me and press a hand to her forehead to smite her—_

_—and nothing happens.  I pull my hand away, furious, and she laughs._

_“You can’t gank demons, can you?  You’re cut off from the home office, and you ain’t got the juice.  So what_ can _you do, you impotent sap?”_

_“I can do this.”_

_I lean in, and her lips part farther, as though she’s expecting a kiss.  The stench of sulfur rises toward me, and I stop breathing.  While her guard is down, I throw her to the ground, straight onto the ring of holy fire.  She screams as I step over her and to my freedom, and I file away the information that holy fire hurts demons as well as angels._

_Then I take off.  The streets are now as empty of reapers as they were of humans, and I search the town for them.  I eventually see some of them near the edge of a plot of land and fly in that direction._

_And then I see them, hundreds of them, gathered around a huge pit.  Lucifer stands near the center, arms spread wide, and only two living humans—Sam and Dean—are there._

_Where are Jo and Ellen?_

_I land beside the brothers and feel the ground shaking beneath me.  They look over at me, surprised, but I hold a finger to my lips.  If I am to leave this place, Lucifer cannot know I am here, or he will ground me.  I press my fingers to their foreheads and take off._

_At the last moment, I sense Lucifer looking straight at me, and I realize that he allowed me to escape with them._

_Why would he do that?_

_I land with Sam and Dean at Bobby’s._

_“Boys?” Bobby calls.  I hear him wheeling toward us from the other room._

_“Where the hell were you?” Dean demands heatedly._

_I look between his and Sam’s face and know that if Jo and Ellen were still alive, they would not have let me take them out of there so quickly._

_“I was trapped by Lucifer,” I say._

_“We expected as much,” Sam says in a much more neutral tone, glancing at Bobby as he rolls in._

_“Ellen and Jo—” Bobby begins._

_“Didn’t make it,” Dean interrupts, but his eyes are fixed on me in a hard stare._

_The words don’t need to be spoken.  If I had been there, they wouldn’t have had to die.  Sam and Bobby are speaking in the background, but I can’t hear them anymore.  It is as though my senses have all shut down, save for my sight, so that I can see Dean._

_He doesn’t truly blame me.  That I know.  I_ know _Dean Winchester.  He blames himself, but it is too soon for him to handle that on his own.  It is easiest for him to blame my absence, so that is the temporary coping method that he has chosen._

_If a scapegoat is what he wants, I will make it easy for him._

_I flap my wings once, hard, and cloak myself, hiding myself from his falsely accusing eyes.  He blinks a few times, looking around the room for me, and Sam puts a hand on his shoulder.  He brushes it off._

_“I need a drink,” he says, heading for the kitchen._

_Sam and Bobby look at each other silently.  I stand in the room for another minute, invisible, before the near-tangible sadness becomes too overwhelming.  The Harvelle women were close to these men, and I feel like am intruding on their shared grief._

_I take off to fly aimlessly for a while.  Because searching for Father seems more and more hopeless, these days._


	12. A Fast Machine, with a Motor Clean

It’s been three days.  I’ve checked in with Balthazar once a day, and Dean seems to be stable.  I feel more optimistic about the bond.  With limited contact, we may be able to get through this.  But the prospect of having to keep my distance for so long is disheartening.  I also don’t know how my reentry into his life will affect our connection.

Sam’s had numerous hallucinations of Lucifer, but Balthazar has been able to direct him to safety each time without revealing himself.

Dean has called for me four times.  Each time it gets more difficult to resist, but I’ve forced myself to stay away.  I shouldn’t show up when he seems so stable—I’ve seen him through Balthazar’s eyes, and he is not suffering.  Or he’s just so skilled at hiding it that through another’s eyes, I cannot tell that he is in pain.

It is this logic that continues to nag at me, saying that I should go to him.

“You’re hard to find, Cas.”

I glance over at Balthazar.  “Apologies.  I was not hiding intentionally.”

I am sitting on a ledge, cloaked, watching as thousands of men slave away at the site of what will become one stretch of the Great Wall of China.  Balthazar has taken a seat beside me but does not speak.

“How’s Sam?” I ask.

“He’s on a hunt with Dean and Bobby.  Don’t have to worry about his hallucinations when he’s focused like that.  I’ve also taught him an incantation to dispel Lucifer’s image if it becomes too distracting.”

“Should be helpful.”

He nods.  “I didn’t have to interfere at all for a stretch of five hours yesterday.  He’s recovering miraculously.”

This makes me uneasy.  Is something helping him along?  If so, what can its motivations be?

“You don’t look very pleased,” Balthazar observes.

“I am happy for Sam.”

“But you worry that it’s too good to be true,” he deduces.  “It’s not impossible—I’ve wondered about it myself.  But I can’t think of any creature that can mend souls the way Sam’s soul is putting itself back together again.”

I nod.  “The Winchesters are unique.”

A worker drops to one knee, exhausted, and a supervisor arrives to punish him for stopping.  I consider stopping him, but it is not our place to interfere.  Then the fallen man receives a burst of strength and gets back to his feet, shouldering his load.

“Balthazar—”

“This can’t have an effect as huge as the Titanic, right?” Balthazar says, winking.

“No, but we should not…”

My voice fades away as urgency grips me, and I look around, searching for the source of my unease.

“Cas?” Balthazar asks, a worried expression crossing his face.

I get to my feet, but the scene remains the same.  There is no reason—

_Dean_.

Without another word, I glide through time and space, heading for the last place the Winchesters had been when I checked on them through Balthazar.  They’d been looking at a haunted museum.

I arrive outside the huge building just in time for a car to be hurled in my direction.  I lift a hand, stopping its motion before it can collide with me, and realize that Sam and Dean are both inside the vehicle.  They get out as soon as the car hits the ground, and I see a man standing on the opposite side of the vehicle, eyes narrowed at me.

This is one of them, one of the creatures that killed me.

“You… are an angel,” he says, frowning.

I flare my cloaked wings, and from the way his eyes dart back and forth, he can see them.  Sam and Dean are digging through the trunk of their vehicle.

“The humans are not alone,” I say, to buy them more time.  “We may have been absent for some time, but we will not stand by and let you slaughter our Father’s final creations.”

The Leviathan laughs.  “Father.  How adorable that you think of him as a _father_.”

He lifts another car parked on the street and hurls it at me.  Rather than expend extra energy in stopping the momentum of the projectile, I deflect it to the side.  I concentrate on my opponent, and a large cloud forms above us.

“Performing magic tricks, little angel?” the Leviathan taunts, but I’m almost certain that he’s nervous, eyes flitting up to the clouds—I have what might be called the… “home court” advantage.

Dean’s inched close enough to fling a sort of chemical on the Leviathan, and though he cries out, he lunges forward, latching onto Dean and getting a hand around his neck.  As Dean struggles to get out of his grasp, I move over to Sam, taking his bottle of solution before he can use it up.

I inhale the fumes to determine the specifics of its chemical composition, and then rain is pouring down over this small block, infused with compounds meant to burn Leviathans.  The creature in a man’s guise howls in pain and releases Dean, and Sam rushes over to support his brother as he staggers forward.

The Leviathan seems to be burning away, but he’s healing simultaneously, and the healing process gets faster and faster, as though he’s developing immunity to it.  He takes a few steps in my direction, and I lift my left hand, drawing a bolt of lightning from the dark clouds and using it to strike the Leviathan.

He crumples to the ground, and Sam leaps forward with a sword—where did he get a sword?—to behead it.  Dean sways slightly without Sam’s support but remains upright.  Sam returns holding the head gingerly by its hair.

“Could you… make sure they can’t find this?” he asks.

I nod and press my fingers to the forehead of the creature, disassembling its head into the molecules that had composed it.

“Whoa.  What did you do?” Sam asks.

“I took it apart.  I will scatter the fragments around the world,” I explain.

“Handy.”

“Dude,” Dean says, his voice a little rough from nearly being strangled.  “You just got one of those sons of bitches.”

“Saved our asses, too.  Thanks,” Sam says.

“I am here to provide assistance.  You don’t need to thank me,” I say.

“Let’s get outta here,” Dean says, moving toward the car.

“Will it still run?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I think so.  Camael dropped her right-side-up.”

Sam gets into the passenger side, but Dean pauses with the driver’s door open.  “You coming?” he asks.

I hesitate for a moment before shaking my head.  “I should go.”

Dean frowns.  “Are you avoiding—”

Before he can finish asking the question, I take off—that should be answer enough for him.  As promised, I scatter the molecules that made up the Leviathan’s head around the world to make sure they will be difficult to find and gather.

I continue to fly aimlessly for a few minutes after completing the task, too restless after the confrontation to settle down anywhere.  And then Dean’s voice calls for me.

_Why won’t you come?  What if I promise I won’t touch you?  I need to… to see you._

I touch down in a back alley in Munich to listen to him as he continues.

_Aren’t you angels supposed to listen to us if we have faith?  I’m trying here.  Come on!_

I zone in on his voice and approximate his location.  He is not far from the museum—he and Sam must have returned to their motel.  Maybe I could go cloaked, test the theory on our bond, and his supposed sensitivity to my presence.

I take flight before I can change my mind and land in, as I’d expected, a motel room.  Bobby and Sam are nowhere to be seen.  Dean is standing by the desk, looking up.  Upon my arrival, he stiffens slightly and looks around warily.  It seems as though he does sense me.

He takes a step forward, toward me, then backs up again, still looking back and forth in the room as though something is going to jump out at him.

I am very tempted to look into his mind.

Then he moves closer to me and says, “Hey, uh…” Here he pauses, sighs, and mutters under his breath, “I’m a fucking idiot.”  He continues at normal volume, “Camael, are you uh… are you here right now?”

He takes one more step, stopping inches away from me.  I take a step back, and he frowns.  Yes, he must be able to sense my presence on some level.

I reveal myself.  “You and Sam need to be more careful.”

“You’re really here,” he says.  “How did I know that?”

I just look at him.  He hesitates for a moment before stepping forward and placing a hand on my arm, sliding it up to my shoulder, collar, finally stopping at the side of my neck.

“I don’t understand,” he mutters as his thumb glides along my jaw.  “Why is this happening?”  He winces at his own words.  “This is making me sound like a girl.”

I give him a small smile, and he lets out a shaky breath.  I can see his soul thrumming with excitement at our nearness.  This is him, happy and relatively well-adjusted.  Not the person I’ve seen walking around through Balthazar’s eyes.  That was an act to keep Sam satisfied.

“So, are all angel feathers golden, or are yours just special ‘cause you’re an archangel?”

“I suppose I am… special,” I say.  “Only archangels are colored gold.”

His eyes sweep up to meet mine, and I see conflict.  Is he… fighting the bond?  The possibility sends an unpleasant sensation through me.  Hurt.  He doesn’t want this, but his soul needs it, and his human mind is confused, unable to reconcile the differences.

“I shouldn’t have come,” I realize.

“Hey—don’t go,” he says, sliding his arms around me.  His motions are tentative, as though he’s worried that he’ll scare me away.

I close my eyes.  “Dean, I am sorry.  I should not have—”

“I _asked_ you to come.”

“Yes, but I should not have listened.”

“Why the hell not?” he demands.  “If you’re so sure that this shouldn’t be happening, at least tell me _why_ I’m suffering.”

I wince.  “You are in pain.  I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head.  “Right now, I’m not.  It’s only when you’re gone.”

“But—”

“That’s why I’m asking,” he muscles on.  “If you’re gonna stay away, at least tell me why you’re choosing to hurt me like this.”

I study his expression for a moment.  “You are choosing those words intentionally to make me feel guilty,” I tell him.

“You figured me out,” he says with feigned indifference.  “Is it working?”

I lower my eyes.  “Yes.”

“Good.  Now tell me.”

I sigh and stretch my cloaked wings, preparing to take off.

But then Dean growls, “Oh, no you don’t!”

Momentarily distracted, I’m taken by surprise when his fingers dig into my back between my shoulder blades, and my wings seize up.  I cry out involuntarily—there’s too much sensation, too much pressure.  Pain and pleasure explode simultaneously behind my eyes, and I can’t handle it.

“Dean—Dean—stop.  Please—”

“Promise you won’t leave,” he demands.

“Dean, I can’t—”

His fingers only press harder, and I clutch at his shoulders, wings fully extended and completely rigid.

“Promise,” he growls into my ear.

“I pro—promise.  Dean, _please_ —”

His fingers release the pressure, and my body sags against him.  My wings twitch feebly.

“Sorry,” Dean grunts, but he doesn’t sound like he means it.  “If you didn’t keep bailing on me, I wouldn’t have had to do that.”

“How… how did you know I was leaving?” I ask—I know for a fact that he hasn’t _seen_ my wings.

I’m terrified by how violent my reaction to his touch is.  We can take blows to our wings, attachment points, vessels, but I seem hypersensitive to his touch.  His fingers brush lightly over those spots now, and I shudder.

“I don’t know,” Dean replies, and I can tell that he’s frowning by the tone of his voice.  “I just knew.”

“Sam and Bobby are returning,” I inform him as I pick up the sound of the not-Impala edging into a parking space in the lot outside the motel.  “You may want to let go of me.”

“Take us somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

“But I—”

His fingers start pressing down threateningly, so I take flight, holding onto him carefully.  We land where I was last—Munich.

“Where are we?” Dean asks, looking around.

“Germany.”

“Germ— _what?_ ”

“It was the first place I thought of.”

“Well, at least we won’t be interrupted.”

“Interrupted?”

Dean’s lips press against mine, and his left hand instantly applies pressure to my recently revealed weak spots.  I moan helplessly at the sensation and try to focus on the kiss, but it’s difficult when his hand won’t ease up.

My back hits a wall, and Dean grunts as his hand is flattened.

“Fuck,” he says into my mouth, yanking his hand out from behind me.  His hips grind into mine, and a different kind of want surges through me.

I run my fingers through his hair, looking for purchase, but it’s too short to hold onto.  His presses a leg between mine, and his hands cruise down my sides to my thighs.  He lifts them up, and I gasp, gripping the back of his neck and shoulders tightly.  He strains slightly, supporting the weight of my relatively small vessel, and for an awkward moment, I try to put my feet back down on the ground.

He doesn’t let me, and I realize that he wants my legs around his waist.  I comply, and he responds with a particularly hard thrust of his hips.  We let out simultaneous moans, and I feel like my vessel is liquefying.

It’s then that I realize my hands are scrabbling at his clothing, and I freeze.  I can’t touch his bare shoulder again.  Why is this happening again?  Haven’t I already decided not to let this go on?

He takes a step back from the wall, and before I can tell him not to, the heel of his hand finds one of the two points and presses down.  I let out a tortured moan and go rigid in his arms.

“Don’t you dare chicken out now.  You’re _mine_ ,” he snarls.  “You’re _my_ angel, and you’re not going _anywhere_.”

Were I in a better state of mind, I would worry about the fierce possessiveness in his voice.  But he lowers his mouth to mine again, and I’m too distracted to put up any sort of a fight, allowing him to dominate.  His touch on my pressure point is just gentle enough to prevent it from being painful, but just firm enough to reduce me into a helpless weakling, completely at his mercy.

My mind jumbles up, and I feel like I’m babbling about something, but it certainly doesn’t sound like I’m speaking in English.  His lips, teeth, and tongue are at my neck now.  I work to compartmentalize my mind, block out the sensations, but I’ve never felt so _much_ before, and it’s overwhelming.

Then another rush of fire burns through my Grace, and I realize that my hand is fitted over the mark. Thankfully, his shirt is on.  But though the touch is not direct, I still feel our connection strengthen.

The thoughts in my head clear a little.

“Dean,” I manage, forcing my tongue to remember how to speak English.  I tighten my hand over the mark, drawing a gasp from him.  “Dean, stop.”

He doesn’t give in, but control over the situation has shifted.  I undulate my hips, creating more friction between us, and press harder on my brand, even extending my Grace a little to brush against it through my fingers.  He jolts as though I’ve shocked him, and I can _feel_ the brightness of his soul as it surges up to meet my touch.

“Fuck!  Cas!” he cries, letting his hand drop away from my back and pressing me into the wall again.

He doesn’t even seem to be aware that he—as far as he knows—is using the wrong name.  I don’t bother to point it out, using my left arm as leverage to pull my head forward so that my lips are brushing his ear.

“Don’t forget who owns whom.  I am not the one who’s been branded,” I whisper lowly, catching his earlobe between my teeth and tugging.

He’s rutting against me almost mindlessly now, but my meaning definitely registers because he lets out something close to a whimper and pumps harder.  His lack of control fuels my resolve, and I am finally able to block out sensation—at least, enough of it to clear my mind.

I tighten my grip on his shoulder and let a hint of my old voice slip out as I say, “I _own_ you, Dean.”

“Fuck!” he cries, his head falling back as he reaches a climax.  “Fuck—Cas—oh, _fuck_.”

I let my feet drop back to the ground and release his shoulder, putting a hand beneath his elbow to help support him.  My mind seems to have put itself back in order again so that I can help him.  He looks as though he might collapse at any minute.

His forehead falls into the crook between my neck and shoulder, and his hands snake up behind me, between my back and the wall.  I assume that he’ll keep moving them upward to hold onto my shoulders, but they stop at my pressure points, and my wings tingle again.

I allow him some time to recover and listen to his heart rate as it gradually slows.

“Dean.”

He lifts his head at the sound of my voice and connects our lips again.  It’s a long, languid kiss that sends warmth and satisfaction through every micrometer of my being.

When we part, he presses his forehead against mine.  “I uh… sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

He opens an eye to look at me, then closes it again with a sigh.  “How can you not know?”  I don’t respond, and he says, “I… well, for one thing, I didn’t get you off.”

I frown.  “Off?”

“Christ.  You don’t—how do you—”

“Oh,” I say, recognizing that he’s using a colloquialism.  “I do not require release.”

He opens his eyes to look at me incredulously, but it seems he wants to leave this portion of the conversation behind as quickly as possible.  “Uh… I’m also pretty sure I called you Cas somewhere in there, and believe me, I know how fucked up that sounds, because he’s dead, and you’re his… his sister, and… _fuck_.”

“Siblinghood does not hold the same meaning for angels as it does for humans.”

“Yeah, but I… I am beyond fucked up.  If Cas were here, he’d probably want to kill—”

“Stop, Dean.”

My voice is not as authoritative in this vessel as it was in Jimmy’s, but Dean obeys nevertheless.

“You have done nothing wrong,” I tell him.  “This is my fault.”

“Your— _your_ fault?  Where have you been for the last, I don’t know, twenty minutes?  This was all just me, me, me, and goddamnit, I _still_ don’t want you to go.”

“Dean, Castiel would only care about your well-being.  All else is secondary.”  Though I have had to do so for a length of time now, I still find it strange to refer to myself in the third person.

“But I—”

“He would not be angry with you over this.”

“You… you sure about that?”

The look on his face is rare—he hardly ever accepts facts as people tell them to him.  I suspect that this trust, again, is motivated by my grip on his soul.

“Absolutely,” I respond.

He kisses me, and his hands start to work on my back again.  I pull them away before he can ground me.

“We should go,” I say.

“I’m guessing I shouldn’t take it personally that you don’t want…”

“Reciprocation?”

He rolls his eyes.  “Yeah.  Sure.  That.”

“We should go,” I repeat.

“Fine.  I need to shower, anyway,” he says gruffly.

I spread my wings and reach for him, but he grasps my wrist, stopping me.

“Just… one last thing,” he says.

He leans in, and this time, although—or perhaps _because_ —the kiss is chaste, my heart pounds harder and faster in my chest.  He draws back, looking slightly shaken, and smiles.  In all my years of existence, I have never seen beauty to match this, and I’m struck dumb.

“Ready,” he says, and I can only nod before taking him back to his country.

* * *

_The phone rings as I am flying over Yugoslavia, and I flare my wings to land._

_“Cas, it’s Dean.”_

_“Tell me where you are.”_

_“Yeah, Room 31-C, basement level, St. James Medical Cen—”_

_I reach the room before Dean finishes speaking, and he stares at me.  “I’m there now,” I say into the phone._

_“Yeah, I get that,” he responds._

_“I’m gonna hang up… now,” I say, trying to look away.  I find that I can’t stop staring at Dean.  Have his eyes always been this green?_

_“Right.”_

_I put my phone back in my pocket and finally tear my eyes away.  Sam is sitting at a table, surrounded by several boxes that contain human body parts.  Sam and Dean launch into an explanation of the case they’ve been working on, and I focus on retaining information and keeping my eyes off Dean._

_“You’re right, Sam.  These are angelic marks,” I say, looking at the heart in my hand.  “I imagine you’ll find similar markings on the other couple’s hearts as well.”_

_“So, what are they?” Sam asks.  “I mean, what do they mean?”_

_“It’s a mark of union.  This man and woman were intended to mate,” I say, putting the heart back down._

_“Okay, but who put them there?” Dean asks._

_“Well, your people call them ‘Cupid.’”  As I speak, I accidentally look at Dean, and a surge of_ want _grips me.  I turn my face away, frowning._

_“A what?” Sam asks._

_Facts.  Facts.  Focus on facts.  “What human myth has mistaken for ‘Cupid’ is actually a lower order of angel.  Technically it’s a cherub, third class,” I explain._

_“Cherub?” Dean says._

_“Yeah, they’re all over the world.  There are dozens of them.”_

_“You mean the little flying fat kid in diapers?”_

_I turn back around to face Dean, and I am relieved to feel no strange reaction.  “They’re not incontinent.”_

_“Okay, anyway.  So, what you’re saying—” Sam begins._

_“What I’m saying,” I say, cutting Sam off, “is that a cupid has gone rogue, and we have to stop him before he kills again.”  Perhaps I sound more vehement than I should, but it is difficult to restrain the sudden urge to reach for Dean.  What is wrong with me?_

_“Naturally,” Sam says._

_“Of course we do,” Dean adds._

* * *

_I sense the release of a human soul from Sam and Dean’s motel room and, alarmed, fly into the room.  I am relieved to see both of them alive and well._

_“What the hell was that?” Dean is saying._

_“It’s a human soul.  It’s starting to make sense,” I say, taking a bite out of the hamburger I just acquired._

_“Now what about that makes sense?” Sam asks._

_“And when did you start eating?” Dean adds._

_“Exactly.  My hunger.  It’s a clue, actually.”_

_“For what?” Sam and Dean ask simultaneously._

_“This town is not suffering from some love-gone-wrong effect.  It’s suffering from hunger.  Starvation, to be exact.  Specifically, Famine.”_

_“Famine?” Sam repeats.  “A-as in, the Horseman?”_

_“Great.  That’s freaking great,” Dean says._

_“I thought ‘famine’ meant starvation, like as in, you know, food,” Sam says._

_“Yes.  Absolutely,” I reply.  “But not_ just _food.  I mean, everyone seems to be starving for something.  Sex, attention, drugs, love…”_

_“Well, that explains the puppy-lovers that Cupid shot up,” Dean says._

_“Right.  The cherub made them crave love, and then Famine came, and made them rabid for it.”  I take another bite._

_“Okay, but what about you?  I mean, since when do angels secretly hunger for White Castle?” Dean asks._

_“It’s my vessel—Jimmy.  His, uh, appetite for red meat has been touched by Famine’s effect.”_

_I turn away and avoid mentioning the lust for Dean.  Now that I know the reason behind it, I am even more troubled, because I can distinguish between Jimmy’s hunger and my own.  My personal hunger I can control, because I am an angel—while Death and War can touch angels, Pestilence and Famine cannot.  Jimmy’s hunger is something I cannot suppress.  The fact that I’ve been able to keep myself from reaching for Dean means that I, Castiel, want him.  Not Jimmy.  And I don’t know what to do about this._

_“So, Famine just rolls into town and everybody goes crazy?” Dean asks._

_In response, I recite the description of Famine.  I need to control myself if I am to help Sam and Dean defeat Famine.  The revelations brought on by his presence can be dealt with—or buried—later._


	13. Truth in Your Lies

“The Leviathans are not happy, Cas.  Why’d you have to fly in and announce yourself, eh?  I thought we were going for the element of surprise.”

I open my mouth, but Crowley lifts his hand, stopping me.

“Wait, wait, don’t tell me.  The Winchesters were in trouble.”  He groans exaggeratedly.  “Don’t you realize that this is exactly what ruined our cooperation last time?  Can’t you just—”

“Killing Sam and Dean is out of the question, as is standing back and allowing them to die.  That is nonnegotiable.”

“How many times have you died for those humans?  Have they ever even thanked you for… anything?”

“I do not require their gratitude.”

Crowley sighs.  “Well, I hope for your sake that Dean is one bloody fantastic lay, or all this just wouldn’t be worthwhile.”

I restrain my temper and ignore the jab.  “Why are you here?”

“I came to warn you that the Leviathans are still going on with their plan for the humans to destroy themselves, but now they’re on the lookout for angels.  All thanks to you, darling.”

“Is that all?  If so, this visit was largely unnecessary.”

“It’s just that your priorities are messed up, and that makes me nervous.”

“My priorities are not ‘messed up.’  They’re different from yours, as they’ve always been.”

Crowley looks me in the eye.  “Clearly.  But what’s the point of being so protective of them if you get nothing out of it?”

“They are my friends.”

He shakes his head.  “I’m warning you, those two are likely to muck up the whole thing.”

“They ended the Apocalypse, didn’t they?”

“Sure, but they left you to take care of the aftermath with Raphael, and look at how that turned out.”

“If you hurt them—”

“Yes, yes, I know.  You’ll rip me apart, and it won’t be pretty.”

“Good.”

“Well, there’s something else I thought you should know.  Bobby’s itching to tell them who you really are.  He’s even talked to _me_ about it.  I’m no relationship counselor and I really could care less about Dean Winchester, but you’re the archangel I’m counting on to smoke the Leviathans.  I need you to stay focused.  So, for everyone’s sake, just _tell_ them already.”

“You said you don’t care about this.  Funny—your words suggest that you care very much.”

“Only because I want us to _survive_.  All the drama your secrecy could cause would be too distracting.”

“If they never learn the truth, we’ll have nothing to worry about.”

“Do you _have_ to be so bloody mulish?  Why can’t you just listen to me?  They will find out, eventually—they _always_ do.  Remember what happened last time?”

I stiffen.  “Do you have any other information on the Leviathans?  If not, you may go.”

“Fine.  That’s all,” Crowley says.  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He shifts out of the plane.

I consider telling Sam and Dean about my identity.  Telling them the truth.  But it’ll take away from their trust in me, and right now there are more important things to worry about.  I can’t have them doubting me at this point.  If there’s ever a period of peace, I will tell them everything.

I extend my consciousness to contact Balthazar—thinking about Dean makes me want to see him.  Though things are not as clear through another’s eyes as my own, it is better than nothing.

_Come on in_ , Balthazar says.

I enter his mind just as he lands in a new motel room.  Dean is sitting on a bed, watching television.  Sam is on his laptop.

“Dean, _now_ ,” Sam hisses.

What is he talking about?

“Uh… Sam?  I get that you think you can sense it when he’s there in your dreams, but… dude.  You’re not dreaming.  This is real.”

“Just shut up and listen to me, all right?  He’s _here_.”

How can Sam know that?  It shouldn’t be possible for humans to sense the presence of an angel.  Balthazar is shifting uncomfortably.

“Okay…” Dean says, frowning and lifting the remote to turn off the television.  “Well, what do you want me to do about it?”

“I just have this feeling…” Sam mutters.  Then he shakes his head.  “But he’s here right now.  We can’t… can’t talk about it.  Let’s go find Bobby.”

Dean’s frown only deepens, and I know he’s worried about Sam’s sanity.  But Sam is _right_ —Balthazar is in the room with them.

_Should I follow?_ Balthazar asks.

_Return to me_ , I tell him.

He lands beside me in Heaven a moment later.  We are in empty space, an unused realm, much like the one in which Michael had been meditating.

“Why can he sense your presence?” I ask.  “Have you done something to him?”

Balthazar shakes his head.  “Of course I haven’t.  It’s just… remember, a soul as damaged as his will latch onto angelic presence if it’s close enough.”

“Ah.  And you’ve been inside his head—spoken to him, no less.  That must have been close enough for him to get a sense for your Grace.”

“He doesn’t know who I am, though.  I checked.”

“I thought I told you to avoid looking at his conscious thoughts as much as possible.”

“Yes, but I didn’t want to risk him suspecting it was one of us.”

“We’re dead.  He wouldn’t suspect us.”

Balthazar shrugs.  “Yes, I realize that it’s unlikely.  I just wanted to be sure.”

“Very well,” I say.  Then, because there isn’t an easy way to broach this topic, I say, “Michael is going to bring back Gabriel and Raphael.”

“Is he?  Gabriel I don’t particularly mind, but Raphael?  That’ll be… awkward.”

“Yes, I imagine it will be,” I agree.  Then I say, “Heaven has only four archangels.”

“Yes, but Lucifer isn’t exactly in Heaven, is he?”

“You know that isn’t the way it works.  My powers will probably last a few months, however long it takes for Michael to put both of our brothers back together again.”

Balthazar is silent for a moment.  Then he asks, “How long have you known?”

“Only a few days,” I respond.

He shakes his head.  “I doubt Michael would give you powers like these only temporarily.”

“They were the angels closest to him, after Lucifer.  I was a foot soldier,” I remind Balthazar.  “These powers were given to me as a reward and a bit of assistance against the Leviathans, nothing more.”

“We’d better get rid of them quickly, then,” Balthazar says, frowning.  “Any idea how many of them there were?”

“About a hundred.  There was a strict hierarchy,” I recall.  “Dispatching Dick Roman alone would not be enough—they have at least six others lined up, fully capable of succeeding him.  After that, they could potentially fall to anarchy, but it is hardly likely that we’ll kill Dick and the other six quickly enough that a next successor would not be named.  Especially since we still have no effective means of killing them.”

“You did make regeneration impossible for the one from yesterday.  The brothers were very impressed.”

“Not impossible, just very difficult,” I correct.  “Although I did keep his brain stem.  They won’t be able to attach his brain to his spinal cord without it.”

Balthazar chuckles.  “Imagine their fury if they managed to put him back together, only to find this crucial piece missing.”

I allow myself a small smile.  “Return to Sam, now,” I tell him.

He nods and takes off.  As I track his progress away from me, I decide to fly back to 1995 and spend a few days there, to see Richard Griech for myself.  Perhaps he wasn’t a Leviathan, but he was a creature of Purgatory.  Should be interesting.

* * *

_“Maybe… maybe Joshua was lying.”_

_“I don’t think he was, Cas.  I’m sorry,” Sam says, sighing._

_I take a few steps away from the brothers, toward the exit, and look up at the ceiling.  “You son of a bitch… I_ believed _in.”_

_I extend my sight beyond the building, but I see nothing but sky beyond.  Clouds, the atmosphere, stars._

_Nothing else._

_I turn around slowly and pull the amulet out of my pocket.  “I don’t need this anymore.”  Then I toss it back to Dean.  “It’s worthless.”_

_“Cas, wait,” Sam says._

_But I’m already flying away._

_I can’t believe it.  I’ve confirmed that it was God who raised me, God who took Sam and Dean away from Lucifer._

_But how… how can that be enough?  How can he think that the three of us could possibly stop the end of the world?  My fists clench and unclench.  I want to kill something, someone.  Maybe God._

_I close my eyes, recalling Dean’s words._

He is either dead, and that’s the generous theory, or he’s up and kicking, and doesn’t give a rat’s ass about any of us.

_I had bristled with indignation, boiled with fury at his words, but he was right.  Dean is always right, somehow.  But from the look on his face as he and Sam told me everything, I sense that he wasn’t so happy about being right, this time._

_What is worse?  A God who is indifferent, or no God at all?_

_Is there even a difference?_

_If only I could confide in someone—these thoughts running through my head might just be enough to drive me insane.  I wonder if an angel can truly lose his sanity._

_I find myself sitting in the place where Balthazar died._

_The marks of his wings are gone, but this is where he’d been.  This was the site of his final stand.  I am grateful for his sacrifice, but I wish now, more than ever before, that he’d just escaped with me, that he could still be alive now._

_A century ago I could have gone to Anna or Zachariah for guidance.  I could have spoken to Uriel or Balthazar._

_But those times have passed.  Now, I cannot even pray to God to guide me.  Never have I felt so alone, not even when I first discovered that I was severed from the Host._

_A chill wraps around me and settles deep into my Grace, and for the first time since my mission into Hell, I feel cold.  It’s an inescapable, unrelenting cold that reminds me that I have_ nothing _left._

_I bitterly think of the man who brought about these changes in me.  He persuaded me to leave the Host, and I died for him.  But even before that, he picked at my faith, encouraged my doubts, and somehow bound me to him.  And now, for his cause, my faith in God has been destroyed.  All that I once had is gone—an angel is nothing without God.  Without faith._

_Yet after all this, I still cannot think ill of him.  Of the man who rose from Hell without a single scar on his pristine soul, save the mark I left on him.  I recall his soul’s immunity to the wretchedness of Hell, its irresistible call to me._

_No… I was wrong.  I don’t have nothing left, because I_ do _still have faith._

_Faith in Dean Winchester._

_Faith that_ he _will save the world, even without God’s assistance._

_But I remember how defeated he was, how the bit of hope his soul had been holding out seemed to be extinguished.  And I identify another strong emotion breaking through the icy cold that surrounds me._

_Anger._

_I am angry with God for not caring, for naively believing that two broken men and a banished angel could stop the Apocalypse._

_Still the cold beats me down._

_I decide to take the human way out and find alcohol.  Perhaps it will make me forget.  Humans seem happier when they are inebriated.  Perhaps the same applies to angels._

_With this in mind, I spread my wings wide and take flight._

* * *

I am standing on the edge of Richard Griech’s land.  It is the seventh of April, but he has done very little in the past day and a half since he purchased the land.  I have heard no mention of Visyak at all.

Then again, I could follow him back through time to the beginning of his life on Earth if I want to discover his origin.  If at any point he emerged from Purgatory, I would be blocked, and I would see his crossing.  How did this not occur to me earlier?

But before I can act on my intention, Balthazar appears, looking… panicked?

“Cas, I’m sorry.  I should have noticed—”

This is as far as he gets before a great force tugs on me, forcing my wings to fold and drawing me through time and space, against my will.  I strain against the force and am surprised to find that I can do nothing against it.

Is someone _summoning me?_   An archangel?

This is a strong spell, but the ingredients used were relatively weak—I can feel that the magic is supposed to work faster.

I begin to panic.

Could the Leviathans be summoning me?  No—they would have to know my true name, that I was really Castiel.  I’ve only shown my face as Camael to one of them.  And that creature is now dead—he can’t have been brought back without the brain stem still in my possession.

But who knows that I am alive?

Then a room comes into focus around me, and I smell the holy oil an instant before it’s lit on fire.

“Ca—Camael?” Sam says, disbelief written all over his face.

Dean gapes at me for a moment before snapping his jaw shut.  He looks confused, and angry.  _Very_ angry.

“Bobby, did you know about this?” Sam demands.

“I was gonna tell you, but I was sure you idjits wouldn’t believe me ‘less I showed you.  So here he is.”

“Bobby,” I say in a low voice.  “You promised—”

“It wasn’t _all_ my idea,” Bobby snaps.  “Sam here’s had an angel sniffin’ around in his head, and he wanted to know who it was.  I just had to suggest—”

I tune him out and focus my attention on Dean, who is still staring at me.  Then the room really falls silent, and Bobby and Sam turn to face Dean as well.

“Cas?” he finally says.

I resist the urge to flinch.

“Is it you?  And tell me the truth.  If you lie to me, so help me I will—”

“Yes,” I interrupt.  “It’s me.”

“How did you—right.  Archangel,” Sam says, answering his own question.

Dean’s eyes are so conflicted.  I can see that he doesn’t want to believe it’s really me.  Does he truly prefer me dead?  I’m too afraid to look into his mind and find the answer to that question, too afraid that it’s in the affirmative.

Yet there’s still this tiny spark of _want_ , the way his eyes dart to my hand occasionally.  I hate that I’m putting him through this, that I’m incapable of reversing the bond.

“Why don’t you change back?” Bobby says.

“Does my appearance matter?” I respond shortly, but I shift my features back to the form, complete with attire, I’ve come to associate with as _mine_ , rather than Jimmy’s.

And suddenly, Dean can’t look at me anymore.  He turns away from me, and I want to fly out of this room, away from them.  I have never felt more cowardly.

“You’re really alive,” Sam says.  “Why… why didn’t you just come to us?”

I don’t answer, and Sam glances at Dean, who’s staring at the ground.

“I think these two have things to discuss,” Bobby says.

“No.  I don’t have anything to say to him,” Dean says.  He marches out of the room without looking at me.

“Idjit,” Bobby mutters, following him out of the room.

I expect Sam to go as well, so I’m surprised when he doesn’t move.  He gives me a sympathetic look, and I just have to ask.

“Are you… aren’t you angry with me?”

“No,” he says with a sigh, shaking his head.  “No, not really.  I uh, I probably should be, but… I haven’t been mad at you.  I’ve had a bit too much on my plate, anyway.  If you know what I mean.”

“I am… sorry.”

“I know you are.  As soon as you had a chance, you tried to help me.  You’ve been around to remind me to stay grounded in reality.  I—”

“That wasn’t me personally.”

“It… it wasn’t?  I could have sworn…” but Sam lets his voice fade, and then he says, “It doesn’t matter.  You wanted to help me, to fix things.  That’s what’s important.  And Dean… ever since you died, he’s been a wreck.  Bobby’s death was another blow.  But you brought him back, too.  I know I should be angry, but you’re working so hard.  And you haven’t been doing it all for forgiveness either, not really.  Or else you would have come back as yourself.”

“Is that what you think of my disguise?”

“Honestly?  I don’t know _what_ you wanted, coming back like that.  But what I think is that you might not have wanted to face us, after everything.”

I open my mouth to speak, but he holds a hand up to stop me.

“Look, I don’t blame you for not wanting to show yourself, but it would have been so much better if you just… came back.  Like I said, ever since you died, Dean hasn’t been the same.  When you showed up as Camael, we didn’t know what to think.”

I lower my gaze.  “Again, sorry.”

Sam steps a bit closer.  “Don’t apologize.  I don’t agree with your choices—opening Purgatory, and all the stuff you did on the way—but you believed in them.  If I’m not mistaken, you still believe in what you did.”

“I do,” I say.  “I only regret hurting you.  The rest was strictly necessary.”

“You can’t say you _only_ regret hurting me, can you?  You released the Leviathans, man.  That’s a pretty big deal, if you ask me.”

“I understand the consequences of my actions.  The Leviathans are a plague to the world, but my actions against you hurt Dean more than anything else I did.”

Sam says nothing to deny it.  “I uh… I missed you, Cas,” he says sincerely.

I feel undeserving of his attention.  “I would say that I missed you too, but in death, I felt nothing.”

Sam chuckles.  “Yeah, I get that.  It’s okay.”

I look down at the flames surrounding me.  “Can you… release me?”

“I _can_ , but not right now.”

“Please,” I say, frowning.

He shakes his head and sits down on the bed closer to me.  “You and me… I think we’re cool.  But with Dean… we should figure this out before big things start happening with the Leviathans.  Last thing we need right now is another round of trust issues.”

“Why do _you_ trust me?” I ask.

Sam thinks this one over for a while before answering.

“You… you’re Cas,” he says.  “We’ve seen you at your worst, and even then, you came to your senses and tried to do the right thing.  I guess I have faith in you, because you’re… because you’re just like me.  You’ll save this world—you’ll save _Dean_ —or you’ll die trying.”  He pauses here, licks his lips, and then adds, “And it’s not as though I’ve never made mistakes.  I was the one who freed Lucifer from Hell.”

“But you were the one to put him back in his cage.”

“And you’ll be the one to stop the Leviathans,” Sam says, meeting my eyes.

A surge of gratitude wells up in my chest.  Sam has one of the biggest hearts—figuratively—that I’ve ever known.  “Thank you,” I say.

He just gives me a small smile.  I think he realizes that I understand the magnitude of his gesture.

Then the door is wrenched open, and Dean is bodily shoved into the room.  He looks mutinous.

“Sam, get out here,” Bobby says.

Sam hops off the bed, and Dean gives him a look that I don’t understand.  But now more than ever, I need to stay out of his head.  Then Sam leaves the room, and the door falls shut behind him, leaving me alone with Dean.  A very clearly pissed off Dean.  I don’t know what to say, so I wait for him to speak.

It takes several minutes, during which the tension stays uncomfortable and constant in the room.

“So.  Camael, huh?  Where’s the _real_ Camael?”

“He died a century ago, throwing Azazel back into the pit.”

Dean’s eyes soften slightly, probably because he sympathizes with the loss of a family member, but his anger returns in an instant.  “How long have you been back?”

“Dean, I—”

“ _How long?_ ” he demands.

I should probably just go along with him for now.  “Not very.  I went to you soon after my resurrection.”

“And can you explain to me how the hell that happened?  I thought God was done caring.”

“He is,” I say, a bit of bitterness creeping into my voice.  “But Michael thought I was worth saving, and he brought me back.”

Dean frowns.  “He… he can do that?”

“He’s been around the longest of us all.  He watched as God created each of his closest kin.  If anyone knows the process of Creation, or can emulate it, it’s Michael.  That I have returned is evidence enough that he was successful.”

“But why would he—oh.  Right.  You pulled him out of the cage.”

_But you left Sam there_.  The accusation is unspoken, but I can tell without looking into his mind that it’s attached to his words.

“I am sorry, Dean.”

His eyes harden at the apology, and he seems to retreat more into himself.  The sight saddens me.  His right hand moves seemingly of its own accord to brush across his shoulder.  And then, as though just realizing what he’s doing, he pulls his hand away and glares at me.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“This.  Whatever it is.  It’s sick.”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Don’t give me that crap!  You’re an archangel.  I don’t know what kind of mojo you worked on me to make this… this…” he gestures between us meaninglessly “…happen, but it’s sick and I want you to make it stop, _now_.”

“I can’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“I can’t!”

His jaw clenches.  “That’s just friggin’ fantastic.  Have you been enjoying yourself, just stringing me along like that?  Popping in during my dreams as yourself and then visiting me in disguise, just to screw with my head?”

I give him a pained look but don’t bother to argue.  He’s angry, he’s reached a conclusion, and nothing I say right now will change that.

“I can’t even fucking look at you,” he says.

But as these words come out of his mouth, his eyes are fixed on me, and I can’t stop the word from leaving my mouth.

“Liar.”

His tightly clenched jaw ticks once.  “What?”

“You’re lying,” I say.  “You’re looking right at me, and if anything, you can’t look _away_.”

I hadn’t thought he could look more furious.  I was wrong.  But he doesn’t look away.

“That’s only because you did something to me,” Dean hisses.

“That’s not entirely true, and deep down, you know it,” I say quietly.  No matter how angry Dean is with me on the surface, I still feel the insistent tug of his soul, hear its call for me.

“No, it was you,” he insists.  “It didn’t start until you put your damn hand on my shoulder.  Was it fun, forcing me to fucking _pine_ for you?  Has it been entertaining, watching me _beg?_   You can’t—you can’t screw with people’s emotions like that, Cas!”

He’s standing close to the ring of fire now, glaring at me.

“I didn’t… I wanted to stop.”

“Yeah?  Well, you sure didn’t show it.”

I return his glare with one of my own and lift my right hand, palm facing out as I allow the desire to touch rise to the surface.  He involuntarily lurches forward a step as his soul responds to the call from my Grace, but he catches himself with a jolt and backs away.

“That is me, lowering my self-restraint for one moment,” I growl, and I’m pleased to have my old voice back.  “The desire for contact that you felt just then is just as strong, if not stronger, on my end.  Believe me, this was _not_ what I wanted for either of us.”

His eyes narrow at me.  “If this isn’t something you wanted, then why did it happen?  I didn’t do a damn thing.”

“When I pulled you from Hell, I inadvertently branded your soul.  The mark should have been meaningless.  You were mortal.  I was not.  But a bond formed.”

“That’s a load o’ crap, Cas.  This didn’t start until—”

“I wasn’t finished.”

Dean snaps his mouth shut and folds his arms across his chest in what is clearly a defensive stance.  It’s as though he’s trying to protect himself my words.

“The bond remained dormant,” I say.  “Second contact was required to activate it.  But even dormant, I suspect that it affected me, was part of the reason why I invariably chose _you_ , no matter the consequences.”

He shifts uncomfortably but says nothing.

“This type of bond is supposed to be between angels.  It allows for a connection between Graces, so that each feels the other’s presence at all times.  Not many do this—it is rare for angels to crave closeness.”

“But… I’m not an angel.”

My lip twitches.  “Really?  I hadn’t noticed.”

Dean stares at me for a long moment, clearly torn between bursting into laughter and lashing out in fury.  He settles for composed skepticism instead.  “Okay, let’s pretend for a second that I believe you.  These bonds… do they always make people so… needy?”

“No.  Completion of the bond usually occurs soon after formation.  We are currently stuck in an intermediate stage.  Your… the fact that you are human seems to have made the need more carnal.”

“So what would we do now?  Can this be broken?”

“It’s permanent.”

He takes a deep breath.  “You’re shitting me.  _Please_ tell me you’re joking.”

“I am not.”

Dean paces a few steps to my right, then turns to face me again.  “What would completion do, then?”

“For us?  It might be the only way to end it.”

“How does that make any sense?  Completing the bond will end it?”

“Because completion, in our case, means my Grace connecting to your soul at every point.  You would burn away instantly.”

He blinks a few times and then takes another deep breath.  “So you’re saying we’re stuck like this until the day I die.”

“Potentially.”

“ _Potentially?_ ”

“Your soul lives on after you die.  The bond may retain its hold on you in the afterlife.”

“Awesome,” he says, starting to pace.  “That’s just awesome.  And killing you won’t work, will it?  Because you’ve died three times already, and this… this _thing_ is still here.”

“Sorry.”

“No, shut up,” he says, stopping and turning to face me.  “I don’t believe you.  There’s a way out.  There’s gotta be.  There always is.”

“Dean, you can’t—”

“ _Shut up_.  I’ll talk to Sam and Bobby.  We’ll figure something out.”  He heads for the door.

“Dean—”

“You know what I realized, Cas?” Dean says, turning back to look at me.  “You’re a liar.  Just like all the other dicks up there.  Sure, you helped for a while, but then you went right on back to lying.  You spent all of last year working with Crowley behind our backs, and this time, after coming back from the dead, your first instinct was to just _keep on lying_.”  He shakes his head, and when his eyes meet mine, they’re cold.  “It’s like I never even knew you.”

The words hurt.

He steps outside, and the slam of the door behind him hurts as well.

That might have gone even worse than I’d expected it to.

Now that all the humans have left the room, I find myself inspecting it more carefully in an attempt to distract myself.  The walls are covered with Enochian, heavy layers of it.  It takes me a moment to read through all the sigils, but I don’t have to finish to know what they’re for: keeping me inside.

And equally, keeping any other angels out, I realize—I can hear Balthazar calling for me from outside, and I extend my senses.  I can detect him standing outside the room, but I can’t respond.  I don’t detect Dean, Sam, or Bobby, which means that they’re either gone, or they’ve hidden themselves from me—with the heavy-duty Enochian on the walls, someone must be supplying them with powerful spells.

But who would have access—ah.  King of Hell, King of the Crossroads.  This sort of knowledge would be available to him.  But to use it against me?

When I get out of here, he’ll pay.


	14. Did You Enjoy Your Reprieve?

_The ground seems to be… bulging.  Pulsing up and down.  What—_

_Sensing movement, I spin around just in time to catch a blade before it enters my back.  I grip my brother’s arm tightly, twisting it downwards, and try to stab him with my own blade, but he manages to grasp my blade arm as well._

_I knee him in the side where he’s vulnerable, and we break apart.  I sweep forward.  He leaps back.  I back up two steps as he advances, and when he charges, I try to flip him onto his back.  He moves with the momentum, flips, lands on his feet._

_He steps forward again.  I aim up while he jabs down, and we lock in position again, both of us still unharmed._

_Another brother is coming.  I look over my shoulder to anticipate where he will strike.  Not surprisingly, he aims under my lifted arm, where I’ll be least likely to block the stab._

_I dodge just enough to the left so that his blade misses my side, and then I bring down my right arm, snapping his arm in place.  In the same motion, I release my blade and catch it with my left hand, stabbing it into the first angel’s stomach._

_My other brother tries to pull his arm back in vain, and the first staggers back half a step before his Grace explodes in a bright burst of light._

_Then I bring my right elbow backwards, clipping my brother in the chin, and he loses his blade to me.  I swing my left arm, slicing his throat with the blade, and he falls backwards.  I turn around rapidly and kneel, switching the blade from left to right hand before stabbing him through the heart.  I wait for the blast before removing the blade._

_I look around for a moment to make sure no more will come before moving toward the spot where the ground had been bulging.  Dropping my blade, I take a knee and reach down to touch the earth._

_A hand shoots out of the dirt, and I grasp it tightly, pulling a body out of its grave.  I frown.  This soul just came from Heaven.  He has returned fully human, not as a ghost or spirit.  I lift him up and fly for Bobby Singer’s house._

* * *

_I cannot sense Dean properly if I cannot see him.  And he is not calling out to me, which doesn’t help.  The panic room looks like a mess._

_I need to ensure that he hasn’t done anything stupid._

_Apprehensively, I open the latch and push the thick door, entering the panic room.  A chair has been kicked over, and some books and a candlestick lie on the ground near it.  A ritual?_

_“Cas.”_

_I turn around in time to see Dean slam a closet door shut.  I see the banishing sigil just as Dean presses his hand to it, and I’m thrown backwards through space._

_Fury saturates the blood that runs through the veins of my vessel, permeates my being until I am a large, fiery pit of rage.  How_ dare _he use a banishing sigil against me in order to_ surrender? _I lost_ everything _for him, and_ this _is how he repays me._

_I channel the wrath into power, using it to stop my ascent toward Heaven.  The rage is almost enough to offset how much I’ve been weakened by the banishing spell.  Almost._

_But I still feel weariness in my wings, my Grace.  Without access to the power of the Host, there is no way for me to replenish myself.  But this hectic, all-encompassing emotion will suffice, for now.  I focus on a large circle around Sioux Falls, extending my hearing and searching for anyone—specifically a Jehovah’s witness—who might have Dean in their vision, might be praying to Heaven._

Our Father, who art in Heaven…

_Bingo._

_“…hallowed be thy name—”_

_“You pray too loud,” I announce, pressing a hand to the man’s shoulder and rendering him unconscious.  In the next moment, I drag Dean into a nearby alleyway and pin him against a wall._

_“What are you, crazy?” Dean grunts._

_“I rebelled for this?!” I shout, throwing him against a different wall, farther into the alley and away from potential spectators._

_One punch._

_Another punch._

_Then I grip him by the lapels and ground out, “So that you could surrender to them?”_

_I spin us around to throw him into the opposite wall, and he grabs at my hands, trying to stop me.  The tiny show of resistance has even more fury boiling to the surface, and I give him two good slugs in the stomach before pressing him back against the wall again._

_“Cas—please—” Dean says through a mouthful of blood._

_I push him against the opposite wall again, relishing in the feeling of_ hurting _him, of making him feel every inch of that hard, unyielding brick on his back._

_I press in close, close enough to almost taste the blood on his lips.  “I gave_ everything _for you.  And this is what you give to me.”_

_Finally, I pull him away from the wall and punch him again in the face.  He starts doubling over, backing up slightly, and I kick him hard enough to throw him back several feet, into a fence.  He lands heavily on the ground, shuddering painfully._

_I take a few steps toward him, and he spits blood out of his mouth, struggling to sit up so that he can look at me._

_“Do it,” he says after a moment._

_Part of me flares up, and my hand balls into a fist of its own accord.  Why_ should _I let him survive?  Why_ should _I let this traitorous human walk away from this place tonight?_

_“Just do it!” he shouts._

_But I can’t.  I could never kill him.  Maybe he doesn’t know that, but I do.  It was never an option.  It never will be.  My fist uncurls, and he winces in pain as I shift toward him.  I press two fingers to his shoulder, and he crumples, bloody and unconscious._

_I stare at his face for a long moment.  Inflicting the blows may have brought me some sort of sick satisfaction, but looking at the result now makes my gut twist slightly.  I can ignore it, but of course, I choose to poke and prod at it.  Guilt rises up out of the ashes of my fiery anger._

_Emotions.  I loathe them.  This man wants to give himself up.  He is turning his back on everything he claimed to believe in.  On his brother, who has overcome addiction to demon blood and done everything he can to atone for…well, starting the Apocalypse.  On Bobby, who has done more for these two boys than their own father has.  And on me, the angel who rebelled against Heaven_ because he said so _._

_Yet when I look at his bruised and bloody face, the knowledge that each of these marks came from me forces me to feel guilt rather than righteous anger._

_I will never win when it comes to Dean Winchester._

* * *

“Oh my, what’s happened here?”

Finally.  I knew Crowley would have to show himself eventually—he wouldn’t go to all this trouble for no reason at all.

“As if you don’t already know,” I say.

“Oh, I have no idea,” he says, smirking.  Then he turns to look around at the room.  “So much Enochian.  I was almost sure the monkeys would screw _something_ up—they always do.  But looks like Bobby’s trustworthy to get a spell done right, after all.  Nice of you to bring him back, by the way.  I almost missed the grumpy old codger.”

“Why did you do this, Crowley?”

“You weren’t going to tell them anytime soon, Bobby could hardly stand being the only one to know, and I was fed up with all the drama.  So I ended it.  Simple as that.”

“Don’t you worry about what I’ll do to you when I get out of here?” I say lowly.

“A little.  But you won’t kill me.  If our game is screwed up, the Leviathans certainly will.  So I’ll take my chances with whatever you do.”

“I might kill you, just to prove you wrong,” I threaten impulsively.

“Oh come now, Cas, we both know you won’t.  Now, let me tell you what’s about to happen, just so you understand that I’m not _really_ leaving you buggered here.”

“What, do you have a plan to get me out of this room?  Because you don’t need one.  Just remove—”

“Yes, I know how to work the sigils, thank you.  Sort of comes with the job description, you know.”

“If you’re not going to release me, then I fail to see how anything you have to say will be helpful.”

“Cas, you need to keep an open mind.  What makes you think I can’t help you?”

“It’s not that you _can’t_.  It’s that you _won’t_.”

“Again, you wound me.  Fine, I won’t say anything.  It’s about time for me to be off, anyway.”

He steps over to the far wall and traces his right index finger over a sigil.  I realize too late that this particular spell will drastically limit my powers.  I lift a hand and throw Crowley to the side, but it’s too late—I already feel the effects of the spell in the form of a heavy weight compressing my chest.

“You…” I snarl, tensing my hand and crushing Crowley’s throat.

“Cas—don’t—you don’t—want—waste—”

Then an ominous presence approaches, and I loosen my grip.  What’s coming?

Before I can demand answers, Crowley vanishes.  I sense that Balthazar has already gone.  I hope that he has gone to get help.  The Winchesters are nowhere nearby either.  This is comforting—if anything is coming for me, at least they will not be in danger.  I am furious with Crowley, but I don’t really have time to waste, dwelling on that.

I take the form of Camael just as the door bangs open.

Two demons race into the room, and a third is about to enter when he’s dragged backwards, screaming.  The other two stare at me for a moment, look at each other, and then dash toward me.  I’m about to attack them when two more figures stride into the room.

Leviathans.

The two demons hide behind me and my ring of holy fire, and I wonder if they expect me to protect them somehow.  Do they really think I would?

“Well, well.  Looks like we’ve got an angel, nice and trapped, just waiting for us,” the taller Leviathan remarks.

“Almost too good to be true,” his companion adds.

“You’re the one who beheaded Gillian,” the first one says.

There’s no point in denying it, so I nod.  The Leviathans are both squinting at me, seemingly perplexed.

“Who _are_ you?” the second one finally asks.  “There are only four archangels.  You are not one of them.”

“I am now,” I say, flaring my wings slightly, but not enough to singe them on the holy fire.

The larger Leviathan spreads his arms wide and flexes once.  Dozens of tentacles materialize around him, stemming from his torso, sides, and back.  The demons behind me yelp in surprise, making it plain that they can see them as well.  Are humans capable as well, then?

“Patience,” the smaller Leviathan says, laying a hand on his companion’s shoulder.  “I think I recognize this angel, now.”

He turns to me and waves his hand, and I feel my vessel returning to its original form despite my efforts to stop it from doing so.

“Castiel?” the larger Leviathan barks, alarmed.  “We ripped you into pieces, ate you right up!  How are you still here?”

The smaller Leviathan smacks his partner to shut him up before addressing me.  “I thought you’d be above little party tricks like that,” he sneers.

“My disguise was not intended for your eyes.”

“Yes, we’ve been in your head—we’ve seen your thoughts.  You are hopelessly, _pathetically_ in love with that Dean Winchester, and we know it already.”

“Enough talk,” I say, unwilling to listen to a discussion of my feelings, especially not with these creatures.

I push a hand out, throwing the larger Leviathan against the far wall.  One of his tentacles shoots out, wrapping around my wrist and tugging me toward the holy fire surrounding me.  I flare my wings, holding position, and take a kick to the chest from the smaller Leviathan, whose tentacles haven’t manifested on either plane of existence yet.

I tug the first Leviathan to me by his tentacle, but while he can throw blows across the fire, I cannot, so I must remain on the defensive.

The two demons behind me are fighting for their lives against the smaller Leviathan, and I vaguely wonder why they haven’t smoked out already.  Perhaps they’re trapped inside their human hosts.

I back up a step, trying to draw the larger Leviathan into the ring, but he just uses his tentacles to attack me instead.

Then one of the demons is thrown into the circle, colliding with me, and I can tell upon contact that both he and his host are already dead.

Bang!

The motel room door is thrown open again just as I explode the demon’s body, using my powers to transform the blood of his body into the same compounds that had burned the last Leviathan I dispatched—Gillian, according to these two.

Not expecting the move, the many-limbed Leviathan staggers backwards, screaming in pain and flailing wildly.  His screams are cut off abruptly by a squelch, crunch, gurgle, and thud as his head is chopped off.

I have no time to look at my reinforcements because the other Leviathan leaps into the ring of fire and curls one long tendril around my neck.  I muster my strength—rapidly dwindling, thanks to Crowley’s spell—and pitch forward, as though bowing at the waist, in an attempt to hurl the Leviathan over me.  But he lands neatly in front of me and tightens his hold on my neck.

Though I don’t need to breathe, the constricting sensation is still highly unpleasant.

“Let him go!”

Dean.

No—why is he here?  Now?  I thought he’d gone.

I see Sam snatch the head of the incapacitated Leviathan and toss it outside, probably deeming that enough for the time being.

The tentacle around my neck tightens, crushing my trachea.  Again, not fatal, but very unpleasant.

“Sam and Dean Winchester.  Wondered when you two would come wandering back into the picture,” the Leviathan says, looking over his shoulder at the brothers.

“We never left the goddamn picture,” Dean says.

I have no idea what picture they’re talking about, but exhaustion is coming down heavily on me as I struggle to get loose—this could have something to do with it.  The Leviathan is too strong, and my powers are nearly depleted.  I spare a moment to damn Crowley in my mind before resuming the struggle.

Then the Leviathan turns around, placing my back to the flames, and I pull my wings in as tightly as possible.  I swing one of them at his head as he opens his mouth to speak to the Winchesters, but he huffs more in annoyance than in pain, wrapping another tendril around my stomach and _squeezing_.

I expend a bit of magic to heal my vocal cords so that I may speak.  “If you intend to kill me,” I rasp, “let me see him one more time.”

The Leviathan smirks as I let the fight go out of me.  So he’s fallen for the gamble.  Unfortunately, Sam and Dean appear to have done so as well.

“Cas, don’t be stupid!” Sam shouts.

I hear loud footsteps as I’m swung back around, and Dean’s snatching something from his duffel bag while Sam comes toward the ring of fire with a sword covered in black ooze—it must have been used to slay the other Leviathan.

But the one holding me extends two long tentacles backwards, knocking Sam into the wall.  The abnormally tall human manages to retain a grip on the sword, though, and that is our chance.  The Leviathan turns his attention towards me.

“Say goodbye, little angel,” he says.

“Goodbye,” I growl, catching Sam’s eye.

As the Leviathan starts pushing me through the fire, I throw both wings and all four limbs at him, shoving him backwards out of the ring and straight toward Sam’s waiting blade.  The instant that my wings leave his body, I extend them fully, ignoring the blazing pain as my Grace starts to burn up, desperately praying that I’ll have enough room—and enough strength—to stop my momentum.

_No—_ it’s too late.  I’m too close to the rim.

I am going to die.

But as I cross the line, the pain doesn’t intensify, and instead, I collide with a large, warm obstacle that slams into the wall behind us, cushioning me.

I realize belatedly that I’m now soaked through with holy water, and a glance at the ring of fire reveals that about half the ring has been doused.

“Fuck…” Dean groans from beneath me.

I can’t move.  I try to get off him, but the damage is too great, and I have no supply of strength upon which I can draw.

Dean manages to scrabble out from beneath me, and when his face comes into view, I feel overwhelmingly relieved that he’s fine.

“Cas?” he says.

“Lev—Lev—” I choke out in a broken voice.

“Sammy?” Dean calls over his shoulder.

“Yeah, got it!” is Sam’s triumphant response.

“Good,” I manage, eyes narrowing to slivers as they struggle to stay open and honed in on Dean’s startlingly green irises.  I’d forgotten how absolutely breathtaking they were.

“Wait—no.  Cas.  Hey—Cas?”

The world slips away from me.

_Cas!_

* * *

_“Where the hell are we?” Dean asks._

_“Van Nuys, California.”_

_“Where’s the beautiful room?”_

_“In there,” I respond, indicating the warehouse._

_“The beautiful room is in an abandoned muffler factory in Van Nuys, California?” Dean asks, a note of incredulity coloring his voice._

_“Where’d you think it was?”_

_“I… I don’t know.  Jupiter?  A blade of grass?  Not…_ Van Nuys _.”_

_“Tell me again why you don’t just… grab Adam and shazam the hell out of there,” Sam says._

_I disregard the fact that I do not know what a “shazam” is, let alone how to use it.  “Because there are at least five angels in there,” I tell him._

_“So?  You’re fast,” Dean says._

_“They’re faster,” I say.  Though his confidence in me would usually make me feel better, I can only feel bitterness at the present.  I remove my tie and wrap it around my palm.  “I’ll clear them out.  You two grab the boy.  This is our only chance.”_

_“Whoa—whoa, wait.  You’re gonna take on five angels?” Dean asks._

_“Yes.”_

_“Isn’t that suicide?”_

_“Maybe it is,” I say, looking into his eyes.  “But then I won’t have to watch you fail.  I’m sorry, Dean.  I don’t have the same faith in you that Sam does.”_

_I pull a box cutter out of my pocket and extend the blade._

_“What the hell are you gonna do with that?” Sam asks._

_Nothing that I need them to know about, I decide, backing away from them.  “Turn around and do not look back until you see it.”_

_“See what?” Sam and Dean ask in unison._

_“You’ll know it when you see it,” I respond._

_They exchange looks that I do not understand before turning away from the building.  I spin to face the door and unbutton the shirt on my vessel.  Then I clench my teeth and dig in.  It takes some willpower not to cry out in pain, and I realize that I am much weaker than I’d expected._

_This banishing spell will only send my brothers back to Heaven, but it is may be fatal for me.  I don’t have the strength to stop it from sending me to Heaven—resisting the last banishing spell from Dean already drained me.  But at that point, it probably won’t make a difference.  Weakened as I am, the spell itself might kill me.  I might be vaporized before I even reach Heaven._

_No one will know what became of me._

_The thought is only slightly saddening when it occurs to me._

_Then I pull the door open and step into the warehouse.  My senses are on high alert as I search for the presence of my brothers.  I know they’re here.  The door swings shut.  They know I’m here.  But they haven’t shown themselves yet.  Perhaps I have to get closer._

_I walk over to the room and face the door, waiting.  One beat.  Two beats._

_An angel lands behind me, and I duck a swing at my head.  He starts to bring his blade up to stab at me, but I shove it down too quickly, burying it in his leg.  Before he has time to react, I have his blade in my hand, pressing it down toward his breast.  He lifts his hands, trying to resist, but gravity is on my side, and I am stronger than he is._

_The blade sinks into his vessel, and he cries out in shock and agony before exploding in a pulse of white light.  I withdraw the blade and look around, hearing the wing beats and whispers around me._

Killer… Murderer… Traitor… Human… Fallen…

_These are the labels they’ve given me.  Then they begin to manifest themselves, surrounding me.  So there still is honor among the servants of Heaven.  I had been counting on that._

_I let the blade fall to the ground with a loud clank.  “What are you waiting for?  Come on,” I say._

_They fall for it and come toward me._

_Perfect._

_As they approach, I rip my shirt open and press my palm to the sigil carved into my chest.  I feel the mark burn into my Grace, searing and excruciating.  Then the pain rapidly extends to my entire being._

_And then—nothing._


	15. Saved

“Will you _please_ let me out?”

“No.  Not until Cas wakes up.”

“He’s going to live.  It’s Crowley we need to undo this spell.  This is _important_.  Now will you let me track him down, or not?”

“No.”

“Dean, let him go,” I whisper, because my throat is too dry for a proper voice to pass through.

“Cas?” Sam says.

I open my eyes and see Sam, Dean, and Balthazar standing around me.  I appear to be lying on a bed in the same room as before.  A look of relief appears on Dean’s face for a split-second before he hides it away.

“There.  He’s alive.  Can I go find that bastard, now?” Balthazar says.

“Yeah, come on,” Dean says, turning and walking away.

I start to sit up, but Balthazar stops me with a hand on my chest.

“Don’t,” he says.  “We had to be very careful with your wings.  If you crush them… it won’t be pretty.”

It’s only then that I realize my wings have become corporeal, burned almost beyond recognition when I turn my head to look at one of them.  I can hardly move them—they only twitch feebly when I attempt to do so.

“I’m leaving these two here to babysit you.  Not ideal, but…”

“You going or not?” Dean says gruffly from a place that I can’t see.

“Thanks, brother,” I say.

He smiles before turning to go, and by the exit, he and Dean trade words.  But I miss them because Sam starts speaking to me.

“I’m sorry,” he says.  “I was… I thought Crowley was lying when he showed up, so we had an argument before heading back.  Otherwise, we could’ve come sooner.”

“You should not have come at all,” I respond.

“You’d be dead if we hadn’t come.”

“Wouldn’t that suit Dean better anyway?”

Sam’s face sours, but Dean’s the one who speaks.  “Sam, give us a minute?”

“Yeah,” Sam says.  “Control yourself.”

“I _know_.”

Sam walks out of my sight.  I hear the door open and close, and then Dean’s footsteps approach.  I close my eyes.

“Cas…”

He doesn’t continue, but I don’t respond.  After a drawn-out silence, he sighs.

“Cas, you don’t really think I want you dead, do you?”

I only grunt in response.

“There’s a difference between being angry with someone, and wishing they were dead,” says Dean.

Of course there is.  I don’t bother to tell him that that’s obvious.

“Cas, look at me.”

I sigh and keep my eyes shut.  “If you want to fight, or to yell at me, can it wait until I’ve recovered enough to defend myself?  I can’t bring myself to care about what you have to say right now.”

It’s not the truth, but the lie rolls off my tongue easily, and I remember what Dean said about me before he left.  He’s right.  I _am_ a liar.

“Why do you automatically assume we’re gonna fight?” Dean asks.

“Because you’re still angry.”

“I am, but—”

“There you go.”

“Cas, shut up.  Look, I’m still pissed at you for… for a bunch of crap, but… you almost died.  Again.  And no, that doesn’t make me _happy_ , all right?  You should know that.”

I can tell he’s waiting for me to answer, but I don’t want to.  He’s only being kinder now because I nearly died.  Once I’ve made my recovery, he’ll revert to treating me coldly.  It’s better to just avoid any kindness than have to lose it later.

“Cas, hey.  You still with me?” Dean says.  “Balthazar said you shouldn’t fall asleep.”

It’s troublesome that I can fall asleep at all, really.  Dean’s hand rests on my shoulder and shakes me a little.

“I’m awake,” I say.

“Well, talk to me, then!”

“I don’t want to.”

“So what, are you giving me the silent treatment now?  I hurt your feelings, so you’re just not gonna talk to me anymore?  What are we, in the third grade or something?”

Pointedly ignoring Dean, I wonder if Crowley is hiding from Balthazar.  If so, it could be some time before Balthazar actually finds him—Crowley _is_ King of Hell, so he has more than enough tricks to keep angels away.

Then a wave of reassuring warmth flows over me, and my eyes pop open in surprise.  Dean’s idly stroking the feathers on my right wing, and his touch soothes the pain.

“Can’t ignore me now, can you?” he comments, eyes resting on mine.

I close my eyes again, and he gives a few of my healthy feathers a sharp tug.  A moan is wrenched out of my throat, and his fingers freeze.  I look over to see that Dean’s pupils are dilating rapidly, breaths coming faster.

“Don’t—” I begin, but before I can finish, he repeats the motion.  Another low sound comes out of my mouth, and he groans.

“Cas, your goddamn voice…” he mutters.

“Dean, stop.  This is the bond at work,” I say.

“Do you think the shoulder thing will be even better, now that you’re back to how you used to look?”

“Dean, _no_.  You’ll be furious once you’re out of my presence.  Get Sam.”

Of course, Dean ignores me, and I can only watch as he shrugs out of his leather jacket and tosses it onto the other bed.

“Stop.  Please, Dean.”

He pulls his t-shirt sleeve up to expose the print, and my right hand automatically twitches.  I open my mouth to yell for Sam, but Dean clamps a hand over my mouth before I can get a sound out.

_Dean, this is a terrible idea.  The bond might try for completion, and I won’t be able to stop it.  Your soul will burn.  There’ll be no coming back._

“Does it look like I give a damn?” he responds, meaning that my projected thoughts reached him.

Before I can come up with any sort of a tactic to stop him, the door swings open.

“Dean… what are you doing?” Sam asks.

I have never felt so grateful for an interruption before.  Dean hastily backs away, out of my sight.  I turn my head a little and see that he’s pulling his sleeve back down.

“I…” he starts.

“He was trying to prove a point,” I improvise.

“Prove a point?” Sam says.  “How does covering your mouth and preparing to pummel you prove anything?”

“Pummel?  You thought I was gonna _pummel_ him?  Who even says that anymore?”

I can’t see Sam, but I can tell from the way he speaks that he’s rolling his eyes.  “Well, yeah, Dean.  You did your whole jacket, sleeve thing for when you’re being pissed and stupid.  Why?  Is… something else going on here?”

“No,” Dean says.

“Uh… Dean, can I talk to you outside for a sec?”

“Balthazar said not to leave Cas alone, and Bobby’s not back yet,” Dean says.

“I’ll be fine in here alone,” I say.

“No, he’s right,” Sam says.  “I forgot.  You could drift off, and Balthazar says that’d be bad.”

I frown.  “Did he… oh.  Of course he showed himself,” I say.  If the situation had been reversed and I’d seen him dying, I would have come out of hiding as well.

“Yeah, he said that Michael brought him back too.  Mostly so that he could help you,” Sam says.

“He has been helpful indeed.  He’s the one who’s been helping you with your hallucinations.”

“You mean that dick is romping around in Sam’s head?”

“Dean!” Sam protests.

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t call him that,” I say.  “He is the closest thing I have to a friend.”  I leave off the fact that I wish that position could be Dean’s.  Because Dean isn’t really a friend anymore, is he?  I don’t know where we stand.

“Yeah, and Dean?  He’s helping me.  A lot,” Sam adds.

“All right, all right.  Sorry.  Sheesh.”

It’s silent for a while, and I close my eyes.  I hear footsteps moving back and forth across the room, but neither brother speaks.

“Cas, you’re still awake, right?” Sam inquires.

“Yes.”

“Good, good.  Um… Dean?  You wanna go blow off some steam?”

“What?”

“It’s just… you’re pacing.”

Dean sighs.  “Keep an eye on him.”

“Dude.  I know what I’m doing, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The room door opens and closes.  A minute later, we hear the faint sound of a motor starting.

“Dean _wasn’t_ about to hit you when I came in, was he?” Sam asks hesitantly.

“No.”

“Okay.  What was he doing, then?”

“It is… very personal.  I think it would be best if he told you himself,” I say—if Sam doesn’t already know, then that means Dean hasn’t told him or Bobby about the bond.  But maybe he just hasn’t had the opportunity to bring it up yet.

“Cas, you know he’s gonna avoid it.  Can’t you tell me so I know whether I can—”

“You can’t help,” I interrupt.  “This is something that no one can help with.”

“Is it bad?” Sam asks, sounding worried and a little bit scared.

“It could be,” I answer.

“Just tell me, will you?  I’ll get it out of Dean eventually, but we can skip that whole ordeal if you just tell me now.”

I suppose it can’t hurt.  Dean’s angry with me already.  How much worse can it get?

“Dean and I share a bond,” I say.

Sam snorts.  “A profound one?”

My brow furrows as I try to understand what he’s referring to.

“Never mind,” Sam says just as I remember the words I’d said before— _Dean and I do share a more profound bond_.  But Sam says, “Go on,” and I suppose it’s too late to acknowledge his joke.

“The bond is typically formed between the Graces of two angels, melding them together.  The one between Dean and me is… unprecedented, and dangerous.”

All amusement has faded from Sam’s face.  “How dangerous?”

“Completion of the bond would disintegrate your brother’s soul.”

Sam sucks in a deep breath.  “I take it you can’t just break the bond.”

I shake my head.  “It is irreversible.  I apologize for putting your brother in danger, Sam.”

“How’d it happen?  I… I don’t see how it could have—”

“My print on his shoulder is only a physical manifestation of the mark my Grace burned into his soul.  It is this that binds us together.”

“Wait, so… has all this… it can’t have been going on for three years, Cas.  I’m not that oblivious.”

“It was not activated until I came into contact with my mark for the second time.  I was in disguise.”

“So when Dean came back all messed up a week and a half ago, _that_ was why?”

I manage a small nod, and Sam looks troubled.  “I am sorry,” I say.  “I will try to stay out of Dean’s reach as much as I can, when I am well.”

“But… don’t these types of things generally require contact?  The separation would hurt both of you, wouldn’t it?” Sam asks.

“Unfortunately, yes.  But Dean is not as stable as I thought he was.  If you had not come in, he could have gone ahead and sealed his own fate.  The bond could have formed whether or not it was his intention, and I would have had no strength to stop it.”

The room falls silent as Sam digests the information.

“You seem to be taking this rather well,” I observe a few minutes later.

“I just… I don’t know how I should react.  I didn’t even know angels _had_ binding rituals.  I mean, it makes sense.  Most other supernatural beings do.  I just didn’t realize… and Dean… he’s probably as far from being angelic as we get.”

I chuckle at this.

“You know, bond or not, Dean still cares a lot about you.”

I close my eyes and scoff as Sam takes a seat on the side of the bed.

“He does,” Sam insists.  “You should have seen his face when you blacked out.  It was like the world was ending.  No wait, worse.  Because he never looked that devastated about the Apocalypse, really.”

I shake my head minutely.  “It was the bond’s influence on him.”

“Damn it, I know my brother, Cas.  That was him, not some angel bonding thing, I swear.”

“He’s angry—”

“Do you think he’d be pissed about you lying if he didn’t care, Cas?” Sam interrupts.  “Why do you think he doesn’t give a damn when Crowley lies to us?  Why do you think he practically blew up when I started going behind his back?  He _cares_ about you, and that’s why he’s mad.  Don’t you get it?”

“I… had not considered that,” I admit.  Mostly because it sounded too good to be true.  Too much like me trying to fool myself that it might not be too late for Dean and me to repair our friendship.

“Well, consider it now,” Sam says.

I nod, but I don’t want to give myself that kind of hope.  If it isn’t true, I am certain that crushed hope will hurt more than having no hope to crush in the first place.

Then there’s a knock on the door, and Sam gets up to open it.  There’s some shuffling around, and then Balthazar walks into view.

“Couldn’t find Crowley,” he reports.  “I’m here to let you get some sleep.  Let’s see how your Grace is doing, shall we?”  He presses a hand to my chest.  “Yes, should be safe for him to rest now,” he says.

“Oh, good,” Sam says.  “Although… I guess it’s bad that he needs sleep at all.”

“I’m fine,” I say.

“Yes, you’re the spitting image of _fine_ ,” Balthazar snaps sarcastically.  “I’ll be off now, if you’ll let me out, Sam.  This bastard is proving to be bloody difficult to find.”

He departs, and Sam returns to my bedside.

“Why can’t he just fix you?” he asks me.

“He is not powerful enough to handle injuries to Grace that are this extensive,” I say.  “Archangels can take a great deal more damage than average angels, so near-fatal injuries for us are beyond the reach of other angels.  You can think of my wings as partial manifestations of my Grace.  That should be an accurate comparison to the state of my well-being, at the moment.”

Sam hisses.  “You’re torn up pretty badly, then.”

“Holy fire kills us.  That is not a joke.”

“I know it’s not,” Sam says.  “You should uh, sleep a while.  You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Think positive, all right?”

“Difficult for me right now.”

“Just sleep.”

I close my eyes.  “I will try.”

“Cas?  Just one more thing.”

I peek at him between my eyelids.

“I don’t think we say this enough, but… thanks.  For… for all the things that you’ve done, for us.”

“You are welcome,” I say, letting my eyes drift shut again.

* * *

_“What the hell were you thinking, bro?”_

_I’m in a hospital gown.  Why would I be in a hospital gown?_

_I get to my feet and look around.  “Is this… a dream?” I ask uneasily._

_“Yes.”_

_“Why am I dreaming?”_

_“You’re practically comatose, that’s why.”_

_The memories trickle back in, and I frown.  “I… should have been banished to Heaven.  How am I—”_

_Gabriel points to himself with a grin.  “You’re welcome, bro.”_

_“But if I’m dreaming…”_

_“Yeah, I’m sorry ‘bout that.  You’re practically human.  But you should have been expecting that after pulling the stunt you did.”  He shakes his head, and I’m surprised to see a genuine smile on his face.  “You are, hands down,_ the _craziest angel I have ever met.  And I’ve met my fair share of crazy angels.”_

_“I was expecting worse,” I say._

_“Yes, I’m sure.  Raphael would have had a field day torturing you.  He’d probably even have let the others have a turn, too.  That’s if you weren’t obliterated before you even got back to Heaven, though.”_

_“Where am I?” I ask, scanning the room again as though it has the answers.  But of course it doesn’t—this is a dream.  I still have a hard time accepting that that’s what it is._

_“I accidentally dropped you,” he says.  “Think you ended up on a boat somewhere, but they got you to a hospital.  That’s where you are, now.”_

_“Can you fix me?”_

_“Not back into an angel.  No way to do that.”_

_“Yes, I know.  But can you fix what’s wrong with my vessel—” no, this isn’t a vessel anymore “—my body, at least?”_

_Gabriel frowns.  “I’m busy, and I don’t have time to drop by in person.  About to go, actually.  Your boys have gotten themselves into trouble again.  Just can’t stay away from it.”_

_“What’s wrong?  Put me right so I can help.”_

_“I’ll come back for you.  Maybe.  This could end messily.”_

_“Gabriel—”_

_“You’ll be fine.  You remember Dean’s phone number, right?”_

_I nod.  “Of course.”_

_“Just give him a call when you wake up.  He’ll take care of you.”_

_I glare at him, frustrated.  “You have time to sit here and chat, but you refuse to heal me and let me help Sam and Dean.  Where is the logic in that?”_

_“It’s a… a delicate matter.  Don’t worry—I won’t let them get eaten.”_

_“Eaten?”_

_“Yes.  They’ve run into some friends from my neck of the woods.”_

_“Pagans.”_

_“Yep!” he says cheerfully.  I can’t tell whether or not this is genuine.  “I’ll be off, then.  Sleep well, little brother!”_

_He presses two fingers to my forehead, and darkness sweeps in._

* * *

Regaining consciousness happens very slowly.

I become aware of something light covering most of my body, stopping about halfway up my chest.  There’s gentle, warm pressure on my hand.

After the sense of touch, hearing returns.

“I mean it, Sammy.”

“Dean, you’re being unreasonable.”

“One word—just _one more_ , and I’ll—”

“Okay, fine.  I’ll stop.  But come on, man.  He’s—”

“That was a lot more than one word, Sam.  Shut up.”

“If I said I’d shut up, would you do it?”

“No.  Because you wouldn’t shut up anyway.”

“What if I promised?”

“I don’t like hypothetical situations.”

“Fine, then.  I promise—”

“Will you just let it go, Sam?”

“No, I won’t.  Dude, don’t you think there’s something wrong about Cas thinking you would prefer him _dead?_ ”

“Sometimes I wish _you_ were dead.  Doesn’t seem to keep you from annoying me.”

“Yeah, thanks.  But seriously, Dean.  He isn’t sure of your feel—”

“If you say feelings, Sammy, we are going to have words.  Very angry words.”

It’s silent, and I assume Sam has admitted defeat, at least for now.  I’ve learned that he is particularly tenacious when it comes to things that he feels strongly about.

Then I realize that the pressure on my hand is caused by another hand— _Dean’s_ hand—wrapped around it.  My chest suddenly feels very warm.

“How long has he been knocked out?” Dean asks.

“He fell asleep about two hours before you got back in.”

“Dude must be exhausted, then.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees.

I twitch my hand slightly and feel the way Dean’s hand tenses up.

“You okay, man?” Sam asks.

“Fine.  I just… thought he was waking up.”

Sam chuckles.  “What, worried about explaining the handholding?”

“Fuck off, Sam.”

Now that I’m fully awake, I sense Dean’s soul beside me and am surprised to find it glowing with contentment and only the slightest hints of longing.  No anger.

I slowly open my eyes and see that Dean’s watching my face.  To my surprise, he does not draw back his hand.  Instead, his hand squeezes mine gently.

“Cas?” he says.

“Dean,” I respond.

“Hey.”  A small, relieved smile crosses his face, and I can only stare.  “You feeling okay?” he asks.

I nod slowly.

“Crowley still hasn’t showed,” Dean says.

“I assumed,” I say.

Dean smiles again, and I start to think I’m dreaming.  There isn’t any reason for him to be smiling at me like this.

“How long have I been asleep?” I ask.

“I’d say just over what… ten hours?”

“Yeah, ten,” Sam confirms.

Dean glances back at Sam, and they have a silent exchange not visible to me.  Then Dean sighs and turns back around to face me.

“All right Cas, listen up, because I’m only gonna go through this shit once,” he says.

I give him my undivided attention—this sounds serious.

“You are—” he stops, and his head hangs.  “Fuck.  Sammy, this would be easier without an audience.”

“All right, I’m going,” Sam says.

His footsteps cross the room, and then the door opens and closes.

“Dean, you do not need to speak if you do not want to,” I offer when we are alone.  Because I know that Dean hates talking about his feelings, and if this is something he would find difficult to say in front of Sam, then it must be something he doesn’t want to say at all.

Dean hesitates for a moment, then sighs and gives my hand another squeeze.  “No.  No, I’ve gotta talk to you.  Look—you… you seem to have missed the fact that you’re… important.  To me.  You’re a lot more than just some dick with wings to me, and it’s about time you realized that.  You say that you’d do anything I asked.  Did it never occur to you that I would do the same for you?”

I frown.  “But… the _one_ time I asked—”

“That… that was…” he shakes his head.  “That was different.  Opening Purgatory was wrong.  Don’t you get that yet, Cas?”

“Would you have preferred the alternative?” I shoot back.  “Would you have liked going right back to the Apocalypse?”

“No, of course not.  But look… honestly, I couldn’t leave hunting.  Sam knew that, Lisa knew that—hell, I should have known that better than anyone.  And _you_ should have known.  You should’ve known that I’d jump right back into the game as long as you asked me to.”

“You promised Sam that you would live a normal life.  I would not make you choose between honoring your promise to Sam and helping me sort out a civil war in Heaven.”

“Cas, why do you have to be so goddamn stubborn?”

“It is the way I am.  Given the same circumstances, I would have made the same choice.  I could not ask for more from you, not after all you’d already given.”

“That’s exactly the kind of thinking I don’t get, Cas.  You _could_ have asked.  Damn it, you _should_ have asked!  I’m still pissed that you took an offer from _Crowley_ instead of asking me for help.”

“Dean, your sacrifices—”

“Hey, you stop it right there.  I don’t know how you do this every fucking time, but this is not all about me, you hear me?  Have you forgotten everything _you’ve_ given up to save this fucking planet?  I was the one who asked for sacrifice from you first.  Hell, I don’t remember you ever asking for anything.”

I close my eyes and remember the naked pain, the torment in his eyes that night at the hospital, so long ago, as clear as it had been the morning after.  “Alastair—”

“Don’t go there.  Don’t even fucking go there.  That wasn’t your choice—it was Uriel, manipulating you.”

“I asked you—”

“That’s ancient history, Cas!  And it wasn’t even something you could control.  I made you rebel against _Heaven_.  You almost went mortal.  That’s way bigger than—”

“Point taken,” I interrupt.  “It was a long time ago, for you.  I will try to let it go.”

“Yeah, I keep forgetting that I’m barely a blip on the radar in your angelic sense of time.”

“Dean, you are far more to me than a… blip.”

“Why?”

I squeeze his hand hard, and his eyes come up to meet mine, surprised.  “After all this time, you still don’t think you deserve to be saved,” I say softly.

For once, I stare _only_ at his eyes, forcing myself to ignore the alluring brightness of his soul so that I can memorize this shade of green, so that my mind could draw upon it at any moment’s notice.  Of course, this feat is hardly difficult, so maybe I just want an excuse to stare.

“We uh… we were talking about something, weren’t we?” Dean asks, sounding distracted.

“Possibly,” I respond, watching as his tongue darts out to moisten his lips.  “Dean, I… visited one of your dreams, soon after I was resurrected.  I—”

“Damn it,” Dean mutters, cutting me off.

“Dean?”

“Damn it!  Cas, you stupid son of a bitch, I know exactly which dream you’re talking about.  The one where you got all teary-eyed, and… shit.  That was _real?_ ”

“Yes, it was.”

“Why the hell couldn’t you just tell me?”

“Would you have spoken to me?  Would you have even believed me in the first place?  I built you up from your bones, Dean.  I know your angers, your fears, your insecurities.  You would have pushed me away, and I didn’t think I could take that from you.”

He just stares at me when I’m finished speaking, so I give him time to digest my words, process his thoughts.

Finally, he says, “That still gives you no excuse for showing up as Camael and screwing with my emotions like that, Cas.  It felt—” his voice catches and he starts again, eyes scrunched as though the admission pains him “—it felt like I was _cheating on you_ , Cas.  And I couldn’t even do anything to stop it.”

If I were more human, I think my jaw would have fallen wide open.  Is Dean acknowledging that he and I… that there is a “we” somewhere here?  I rub my thumb along his hand a little, and he cringes.

“Can you not do that?  I feel like enough of a girl already.”

“I am sorry, Dean.  I did not realize the depth of your emotions—”

“What, they weren’t clear enough in that dream?  And… damn it, you made me feel like I was using you and cheating on you at the same time, you friggin’ bastard.  When were you gonna tell me, huh?”

“I… thought it’d be best to wait until the Leviathans had been dealt with already.”

“What, waiting for a moment of peace?  Well, newsflash: there’s no such thing as peace in my freakish life, so you’d better get used to doing shit like this whenever you have time.  No, scratch that.  We won’t be doing this shit again ever because this heart-to-heart crap is starting to make me feel nauseous.”

“We are… finished, then?”

Dean regards me for a moment.  “What do you think?  Are we good?”

“I… yes,” I say hesitantly.  I feel like this hasn’t solved anything, but at least I know for certain that Dean isn’t discounting me as a friend.

“Good.  I’m gonna… gonna try to trust you.  But if you lie to me again, I swear to god, I’ll—”

“Kick my ass.  Yes, I know.”

Dean chuckles before calling out, “Sammy!  You can come on back in here!”


	16. Lights Will Guide You Home

The door opens and closes, and Sam’s heavy footsteps cross the room toward us.

“Should we be worried that Crowley still hasn’t showed up?  He _is_ on your side, isn’t he?” Sam asks.

“He is on our side indeed.  And I know the incentive you need to call him in.”

“What is it?” Dean asks.

“Call Balthazar back.  He will be able to reach Crowley faster with a message.”

“What message, though?” Sam presses.

“The Winchesters and I are friends again.”

Dean frowns.  “You’re kidding me, right?”

“I am not.  Crowley believed that my worries about my identity were distracting me from the Leviathans, so he wanted to make sure the rift between us was mended.  That is what I believe his reasoning was for leading those two Leviathans straight to me while I was vulnerable and then calling you two in for the rescue.  Although I think this may have gone farther than he intended.”

Dean looks murderous.  “Farther than he—farther than he _intended?_   You almost _died_ , Cas!  I am going to wring Crowley’s fat neck, next time I see him.”

“My, oh my, what a temper you have there.”

Dean whips around, but his motion is retrained because he still hasn’t released my hand.

“Watch it,” Crowley says.  “You might want to be nice to the demon who knows how to reverse the spell on your boyfriend.”

Dean growls something unintelligibly, and Crowley just snickers.

“Apologies, Cas.  I thought these two airheads would get to you faster than they did.  Shame—I lost five demons on the chase, too.  Only two of them made it into this room.  None made it out, of course.”

“Will you just fix this?” Dean demands.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Crowley scoots out of my sight, and a moment later, the heavy bands around my chest lift away, and the room immediately erupts with bright light.  I gasp and force my Grace to calm, channeling it into healing the extensive damage it and my wings took from the holy fire.

I don’t realize that I’ve sat up or that I’m crying out until I feel the firm grips on my arms, rocking me back and forth gently.  Above the sound of a voice I hardly recognize as my own, I hear a comforting voice murmuring, “I got you, Cas.  Hey—hey.  Cas, look at me.  Cas.”

Dean.

I open my eyes.  My vision is blurred, but I force it to clear up.

“Hey,” Dean says, looking relieved.  “Better?”

I open my now-cloaked wings, stretching them out fully.  “I did not expect that to be so painful,” I say, directing a glare at Crowley.

“You say it as though _I_ knew,” the demon says with a sigh.

“Leave,” I say.

“Well all right.  I’ll let you lovebirds have some time.”

Dean’s grips tighten on my arms for a moment, and I can sense his anger threatening to take over.  But he calms himself, and Crowley departs.

“Dean, you may release me now,” I say when he shows no inclination to move.

“You a hundred percent?”

I hesitate.  “…Percent?”

Dean nearly rolls his eyes.  “You okay?” he tries again.

I nod.  “Yes.”

“Okay.”

Still he does not loosen his hold on me.  “Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“Are _you_ okay?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine.  I’m not the one who nearly got fried.”

“That is not what I meant,” I say, looking down at one of his hands.

“Oh,” Dean says, pulling his hands back quickly.  His cheeks are tinged pink, and I feel the corners of my lips tugging up into a smile.

“Uh, guys?  I’m still here,” Sam says.

“We weren’t—” Dean begins.

“Wait a second.  Dean, are you _blushing?_ ” Sam interrupts.

“ _No_.”

Sam starts cackling, and Dean gets to his feet.  I watch, amused, as he takes a swing at his brother.

“Ow!  Jerk!”

“You asked for it, bitch.”

I swing my legs off the bed and get to my feet, stretching out my vessel and relieved at the feeling of power crackling beneath my skin.

Then Bobby enters the room.  “Oh, you’re up an’ runnin’ again,” he observes.

“Yes.”

“Where were you when we did the ritual?” he asks.

“I was about to follow Richard Griech back in time to his appearance on Earth.”

“Sorry,” Sam says.

“There is no need to apologize, Sam,” I say.  “Now, I’d like to get back to what I was doing.”

“Already?” Dean blurts out.  Bobby raises an eyebrow at him.  Sam just grins.

“Uh… yes?” I say.

“You almost died,” Dean says, coming toward me but stopping a few feet away.  “Shouldn’t you be lying down or something?”

“Crowley removed the spell.  My powers are unrestrained now.  I am fine.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake—Cas, do you mind sticking around for a while longer?  My brother’s too much of a wimp to ask.”

“ _Sam!_ ” Dean hisses.

“Would you like me to stay?” I ask Dean.  Perhaps this is a question I should have asked him a long time ago, instead of just making the decision for him.  But it’s too late to change the past, so I will settle for improving the future.

“No, go ahead,” Dean says.  “You’ve got more important things to be doing.”

I frown.  “More important?  Not much is more important to me than you are, Dean.”

Bobby coughs loudly.  “I’ll uh… go buy lunch—dinner—food.  Sam, you coming?”

“You don’t have to leave,” I say.

“No, it’s okay.  I’m actually pretty hungry,” Sam says, heading for the door.  “I’ll bring you back some pie, Dean,” he adds as he exits the room.

Dean heaves a sigh when the door swings shut.  “You can go,” he says, shaking his head and moving toward the nearest wall.  He scrapes through a few of the sigils.  It looks as though they’ve been scratched off and redrawn more than once, and I realize that they’ve been breaking and fixing them every time Balthazar enters or exits the room.  The restrictions on the room fall away, and I’m free to leave.

“Dean—”

“Just go already, all right?  We both know you’re gonna leave anyway, so—”

“I will indeed have to leave at some point, but it does not have to be now, and it does not have to be like this.  And I will come back.”

“Yeah.  Sure.”

I frown.  “Why don’t you believe me?”

Dean just shrugs.

“Dean.”

“Just go, Cas.”  He sounds tired.

I step over to him, reach out to touch his arm.  “I will not leave you,” I say.  “You seem to think I am capable of leaving without any intention to return to you.”

“Well?  Aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” I say firmly.  “I can’t leave you.  Can’t you see that, after everything I’ve done for you?  I’ve died more than once, for you.  Do you really think it’s that easy to walk away?”

“You did it easily enough last time,” he says roughly.

“There,” I say.  “The truth is out.  Now was that so difficult?”

“Truth?  What truth?”

“You didn’t want me to go, last time.  You could have said something.”

Dean stares at me, but I have no doubt that he knows exactly which time I am talking about.  Then his expression hardens.  “You flapped off to go join your brothers as soon as you got your shiny new pair of wings.  What was I s’posed to say?”

“You could have asked me to stay.  I… if you’d asked, I would have—”

“You’d made your mind up already.  I asked what you were goin’ to do, and you’d already decided on Heaven.”

“Well, you’d made me a promise to Sam,” I say.  “I already told you this—I wouldn’t force you to choose me just because I died for you.”

“Is that the only reason you think I would’ve had to choose you?”

“What else could there have been?” I ask.  “It’s not as though I was your family or anything.”

He bristles at that.  “Look, you were already practically family.  You had to know that, Cas.  You had to.”

I shake my head.  “If I were, you would have asked me to stay, without hesitation.  If Sam had been intent on leaving you, would you have let him go without argument?”

“I _did_ let him go, Cas!  In case you don’t remember—”

“But as I recall, you tried the best you could to prevent him from leaving.  You didn’t even ask me.”

“Oh, screw this.  That was almost two friggin’ years ago, Cas.  This is pointless.  How’d we even get to talking about this anyway?”

“I was attempting to address and settle your obviously unresolved abandonment issues.”

“Wow, Cas.  Thanks.”

I ignore the sarcasm, and the little bit of pride that forms in me when I realize that I recognized it for what is was.  “I want you to accept that I will not just leave you,” I say.  “I will not abandon you.”

Dean looks edgy, and I realize that I’ve moved closer to him without thinking.  I back up a step.

“Well how about last year?” he asks.  “You only came when you thought—”

“I was fighting a war.  If I could have come, I would have.  We have had this conversation before.”

We fall silent for a moment, and without dialogue to distract me, all I can think about is the urge to reach out for Dean.  I really need to leave, but I just can’t bring myself to.  And after telling Dean that I won’t leave him, it would be too contrary to leave now.

“You know, I mean what I said earlier,” Dean says quietly.  “About you being a liar.  I mean, the first thing you did when you got back was lie to us.  And make another deal with Crowley, apparently.  What, are you two joined at the hip or something?”

“Demons are better-suited for this sort of reconnaissance.  They are closer to human because they were once human, so they can slip in unnoticed by the Leviathans.  Angels are too conspicuous.”

“So you’re trying to say that you’re just using him.”

“Yes.  We do not have a deal this time.  Just an agreement to work together against a mutual enemy.  Did you not make the same choice when the enemy was Lucifer?”

Dean concedes the point with a nod of his head.

“Dean… I am not… I have never wanted to lie to you.  Against Raphael, my actions were—”

“Can we not talk about this?”

I sigh, frustrated.  “How can we ever get past a problem if you never face it?  This is clearly affecting your ability to trust me.  We need to resolve it.”

“There’s nothing to resolve, all right?  Just go.  We’re done here,” he says, walking past me so that I’m just staring at a wall covered in sigils.

“Now you’re just running away.  Dean, I came to you and Sam as Camael because I did not want to face you,” I say, turning around to look at him as I speak.  “Because I was _running away_.  This angered you.  So you should be able to understand my frustration with you right now.”

He spins around to face me.  “You wanna talk about it?  Fine, let’s talk about it.  What should we start with?  The fact that you chose to go to a demon for help before me, or the fact that you were working with that demon to kill your own brother?  That’s pretty damn cold, Cas.”

I glare at him, and my wings—still invisible to him—flare automatically as my ire spikes.  “Do you think I _wanted_ to kill my brothers?  Do you think I _wanted_ a civil war in Heaven?  That I _wanted_ to lead a fight that killed so many of my brothers?  I didn’t _want_ to kill Raphael—I _had_ to.”

“Don’t say you did it for me.  Don’t even—”

“ _But I did_ ,” I say, drowning him out.  “I did it so that your sacrifice— _Sam’s_ sacrifice—would not have been in vain.  Is it really so difficult for you to see that?”

Dean’s jaw clenches and unclenches a few times.  “You still picked Crowley—”

“Because you’d given enough, and I had no other options.  I doubt you would have been able to help, anyway.”

A flash of hurt crosses his face, but it’s gone almost instantly.  Dean’s voice is hard when he says, “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s true.  You would not have been much help in the war in Heaven.”

Dean huffs once but says nothing.  In this silence, I see his hand twitch a little, catalogue the way his eyes linger on my right hand.  So he still feels the bond as well.  I decide to rest on this topic for the moment, switch to something safer.

“I told Sam about our connection.”

“Yeah,” Dean says.  “He uh… we talked about it.  There’s really nothing we can do?  I’m sure Bobby and Sam will find something.”

“I asked Death himself.  Even he cannot interfere.”

“Or maybe he just won’t, because he doesn’t like you.”

“That is not entirely impossible.  I was disrespectful toward him.”

Dean chuckles, but I remember what he’d said.  My memories after taking in the Purgatory souls are sometimes blurry or incomplete, just snatches of color or conversation, swirling images and scenes in my head, but I clearly remember the instant in which Dean demanded of Death, _Just kill him now!_   I had thought it insolent at the time.  Now, it just hurts.

Then Dean’s fingers curl around my wrist, pushing the material of my coat sleeves up slightly.  I meet his eyes, searching.

“Cas,” he mutters.

His other hand comes up, rests along my jaw.  I press my face into the touch slightly, maintaining eye contact with him.  This feels much stronger than it did before.  Does the shape of my vessel really matter?  It shouldn’t affect my sensations.  But then I see the look in his eyes and realize that the difference is in the waves of affection coming from his soul, undiluted by confusion now that I am in the form he recognizes.

Dean leans in a bit closer.  “Cas,” he repeats, and I realize he wants permission.  Does he really need it, at this point?

I shut my eyes and close the distance between us, even as my mind screams at me that this is a terrible idea.  I kiss him gently, soft repeated presses of lips against his.  He allows this for a moment, but as I start to pull back, he slides his hand around the back of my head, pressing his tongue into my mouth.  And suddenly I have no choice but to respond, putting my arms around his waist and pulling him toward me.  He groans into my mouth, and the kiss deepens, tongues and lips slipping and sliding against each other.

I feel myself growing hard, and with it comes the desire for completion.  My right hand twitches, and I know it yearns for its place on Dean’s shoulder.  _No_.  I can’t.

Dean backs up a step, pulling me with him, and sits on the bed.  He doesn’t allow our lips to separate, so I’m jerked downward awkwardly.  He breaks away, breathing through red, kiss-swollen lips.  “Get up here,” he says, tugging on my legs as he scoots back slightly on the bed.

I fall to my knees, straddling his lap, and kiss him again, hardly sparing a thought for the _need_ that pulses through me.  This position brings our pelvises close together, and when Dean grinds his hips upwards, I can feel a definite bulge in the denim of his jeans.  I groan at the pressure and roll my hips down, seeking more friction, more pressure.

Dean kisses his way along my jaw to my ear and breathes, “Fuck, Cas.  I can’t… can’t control myself with you.  Need you.”

I rut against him, riding the hot flashes that explode in me at the sensation, and Dean groans, tonguing my ear.  Then his hands are scrabbling at my clothing, shoving my coat off, working on my jacket.

“Need to feel you, Cas.  Need you—need this,” he whispers hotly.

I shudder at the urgency in his words and remind myself with a jolt that this could be the bond talking.  I can’t let this happen.

He’s already shrugged out of his shirt and is about to remove his undershirt when I grab his wrists, stopping him and distracting him with a long, filthy kiss.  Apparently it’s not enough, because when I back up to let him breathe, he resumes the task of pulling his shirt off.

“No,” I say, and I’m surprised at how shaky my voice is.  I catch his hands again.  “Bond—too dangerous.  I can’t let you—”

Then his tongue is in my mouth, and his hands are working at my slacks instead.  I tighten my grips on his wrists and pull them away, pressing them to either side of him on the bed.

“Dean,” I say, turning my head away.

He noses at my jaw, neck.  “Don’t say stop now, Cas.”

“Dean—”

Clearly something in my tone is displeasing to him, because his teeth suddenly sink into the base of my neck, hard.  I gasp in surprise.  Dean pulls at his hands, but I don’t release them.  His tongue swipes over the bite languidly, and I resist the urge to squirm.

“Don’t stop this now,” he whispers.  “ _Please_.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say, spreading my wings out.

“You won’t,” Dean says quickly.  “I’ll keep my shirt on.  I won’t let you touch the scar.  Cas, don’t go anywhere.  You said you weren’t leaving.  You said you weren’t a liar.”

“Shh.  Shh, Dean.  Calm down.”

The threat of my departure dulls the heat down considerably, and I’m relieved.  It was—and still is—so tempting to reach out and cement the bond, to tie Dean to me permanently, but at least the primal _need_ has faded, for now.  My Grace doesn’t seem to understand that it is impossible for me to bind Dean, that this will kill him.

I back up slowly, sliding away from Dean, and he looks up at me as I regain my feet.  I haven’t released his hands, a promise that I won’t be leaving him.  His eyes are still dark, pupils still blown wide, but he seems to be in a better state of mind now.

“I guess the uh, moth to a flame metaphor works pretty well for us, huh?” he says.

“Yes.”

Dean takes a shaky breath.  He seems to be in full control of his actions again.  “It’s always gonna be like this from now on, isn’t it?”

“I imagine that tolerance might be able to be achieved over time, but it would be difficult.  I can stay out of your way if—”

“Oh, no.  Fuck, no.  You’re not going to avoid me, you hear me?  When I call, you’d better get your feathery ass down here.”

“I will do my best.”

“Guess that’s as much as I can ask for.”  Dean stands, and I release his wrists.  He catches my face before I can back away and plants a quick kiss on my lips.  “Don’t get yourself killed, all right?  We’ve still got a mountain of shit we’ve gotta fight over when you get back.”

“I am not interested in fighting over excrement.”

This gets a small laugh out of Dean, and I count it as a win.

“See you later, Cas.”

I smile.  “Goodbye, Dean.”

His hands drop away from my face, and I fly away.

* * *

_Everything feels sharper, somehow.  I had far better senses with my Grace supporting me, yet it seems as though I never truly opened my eyes until the moment I awoke at the hospital._

_“Dude.”_

_Even Dean’s voice sounds different to these ears._

_“I told you to sit down, but you don’t have to stay there for hours just ‘cause I said to stay there,” he continues._

_“So you want me to stay here, but you… don’t?  I do not understand.”_

_Dean grins.  “Going human hasn’t changed you a bit, has it?”_

_A strange fluttering sensation starts in my stomach at the fondness that shows in his voice, the crinkles beside his eyes and the curl of his lips when he smiles.  The memory of what I had experienced when Famine was near surfaces, and I realize that this is attraction.  And it’s very inconvenient, as Dean does not appear to reciprocate in any way._

_“Come on.  We’re getting food.  Bobby’s chili is friggin’ amazing, but if I eat any more of it, I’m gonna be sick of it in my next life.”_

_I get to my feet, realizing that the strange gnawing sensation that accompanies the fluttering in my stomach is probably hunger.  The wisps of Grace left in me are too weak, far too weak to sustain this body without food or sleep._

_I allow Dean to drag me out of the house toward the Impala._

_“Where is Sam?” I ask as he pushes me toward the front passenger seat._

_“Looking at omens with Bobby.  I tried to interrupt, but he made one of his bitchfaces at me and told me to get lost.”_

_“I take it we will not be bringing food back for him.”_

_Dean chuckles.  “Oh, you know me too well.”_

_He starts the car, and I wonder how anyone can know something or someone “too well.”_

_“So uh… is Jimmy still in there with you?” Dean asks. “Now that you’re human, I mean.”_

_I nod.  “I’ve been trying to keep him under, but he still surfaces sometimes.”_

_“Poor bastard.”_

_“He was not a bastard, nor was he necessarily poor, though he would have appreciated more money.”_

_Dean laughs, and warmth curls in my chest.  “Sometimes I wonder if you say shit like that just to fuck with me,” he says.  “And then I remember that you’re… well, you.”_

_“And I suppose that explains everything,” I say._

_He just nods, grinning.  But the amusement eventually fades away, and we sit in silence for a while._

_When we reach the town, Dean doesn’t stop anywhere, just cruises through streets aimlessly.  I wait for him to speak—it’s become clear that this is not about food, and that Sam is not here because Dean didn’t want him to be._

_Finally, Dean speaks up.  “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, Cas.  It’s insane, right?  Letting Sam say yes to the Devil… How am I supposed to do that?”  He pulls over and stares blankly out the windshield, letting the car idle on the side of the road.  “I don’t think I can do it, Cas.”_

_Before I’ve registered my intentions, my hand covers his where it’s been resting on the gear shift.  “Dean, you are capable.  You can do this.”_

_“It’s Sam,” he says, voice breaking on his brother’s name._

_I want to banish the note of pain in his voice, the fear in his eyes, but I can’t.  That he hasn’t pushed my hand off or pulled his own hand away already counts as a small miracle._

_“It’s my brother, or the world.  Why should I have to choose?”_

_“You shouldn’t,” I say.  “It’s not your choice; it is his.  Your choice is whether or not you will support your brother, and the decision he’s made.”_

_Dean laughs humorlessly.  “Not my choice, huh?  I could still lock him up in the panic room if I needed to.”_

_“You could,” I agree.  “But you won’t.”  Dean opens his mouth to protest, but I continue before he can get the words out, “I built you from your bones up, Dean.  I know you, every cell and every thought of yours.  I know you, Dean.  And you love your brother too much to lock him up and take his choice completely out of the equation.  Especially when you know that he’s right.”_

_Dean’s staring at me when I finish.  “I uh…” he clears his throat.  “Thanks, Cas.”_

_I blink, surprised.  “For what?”_

_“For keeping me honest.”_

_I just smile.  The car starts moving again, and I pull my hand back, sensing that the moment’s over._

_“Let’s get us some burgers,” Dean says._

_I like the sound of that._

_“And some pie,” he adds as an afterthought.  “You’re gonna love it.”_

_I’ll certainly try my best to._


	17. A Flower Glowing in the Dark

A door opens.

“No—it’s too soon.  Far too soon,” a familiar female voice protests.  I identify it as belonging to Eleanor Visyak.

“What do you mean, too soon?” a deep voice rasps.  “We’ve been waiting for billions of years.  The Spider has weaved it into her web.  If we move now, we _will_ get our freedom.”

“I thought the Spider had already stopped her work.”

“She couldn’t.  Said she couldn’t just leave things unwoven.  Said it was the hardest thing she’d ever done.  I don’t think she’ll be stopping again anytime soon.”

The creature that just emerged from the door is in human shape, and I recognize him from 1995 as Richard Griech.  Except that this is taking place in late November of 1940, and it appears that he has not aged a day.  So he is definitely from Purgatory.

Visyak sighs.  “Tell me, then.  How do we start?”

“Locate the Winchester bloodline.  Some years from now, we will need them.”

“You won’t give me anything else to work with?”

Griech shakes his head.  “The Spider advised me to tell you only what is necessary for each individual task.  Find them, and report back to me.”

Visyak nods and leaves the room.  Griech then turns and looks directly at me, even though I’m cloaked.

“I know you’re there, angel,” he says.  “You might as well show yourself.”

I shift into the plane, and he smiles.

“Wow, it’s an honor.  Which archangel are you?  And what year are you from?”

I ignore his first question and answer, “2012.”

His eyes widen.  “Then it’s true.  We’ve succeeded.”

I watch him warily.  “Succeeded in what?”

“Winning our freedom,” he says gleefully.  “They wouldn’t have sent you back here to find me if we hadn’t gotten free.  Now, which are you?  Gabriel?”

“Who is the Spider?” I ask.

“Sorry, can’t tell you that.  It’s confidential.”

I can’t tell what type of creature Griech is, only that he’s from Purgatory.  And that he is far older than me.  Possibly even older than Michael.  He could very well be a Leviathan.

“So, how are the angels doing now?  Losing miserably?  Or are you still ostriches, sticking your heads in the sand and hoping we’ll just go away?”

In one flap of wings, I’m across the room, hand wrapped around his throat.  He resists, but he’s surprisingly weak.  Not a Leviathan, then.

“Kill me if you want to,” he says.   “But before you do it, think about what the consequences could be to your future.”

I narrow my eyes.  “What kind of consequences?”

“Ones that will keep the righteous man from being born.”  He smirks.  “I may not be able to identify you specifically, but I can see you clear enough to know you’re in love.”  When I don’t respond, he continues, “It was foretold that our freedom would be brought about by an angel in love.  In love with the righteous man.”

“The Spider said this?”

Griech smiles.  “Is it true, then?  I suppose I owe thanks to you, then.”

“Not too fast,” I say.  “I will make sure I am also the one to shut you back in.”

Griech grins.  “Our freedom will be eternal.  It will last until the end of time, the Spider says.”

“Well I live to break prophecies.  Did the Spider tell you that, too?”

“The Spider is never wrong.  All that she spins comes true.”

I fix him with a hard stare.  “I don’t care what you believe,” I say.  “But know this, for it is fact.  You will not live to see the freedom of your people.  In my present you’re already dead.”

His expression tightens considerably, and he says, “You’re bluffing.”

“Oh, did the Spider neglect to mention that unfortunate detail?”

Griech glares at me.  “If you’re finished, angel, let me go.  I know that you won’t kill me.  You wouldn’t risk losing your beloved human.”

“You’re right.  I won’t kill you.  Because you’re already dead.”

Before Griech can say anything else, I take off for the present.

Who is this Spider?  A psychic in Purgatory?  They referred to it as a “she.”  I wonder whether or not she’s still around now.  She made an apt prediction about seventy years into her future—this would require great power.  I must investigate.  It can’t be right that we’ve never even _heard_ of this creature before.

Today the autistic man sits on a lawn chair, looking up at the sky.  I follow his line of sight and wonder what it’d be like to be unaware of everything around me, unconcerned by anything outside of math, and the color of the sky.  I imagine time would pass slowly.

I wonder if there’s another way to get into Purgatory.  But if I’m going to do anything this time, it’ll have to pass through the Winchesters first.  I’ll have to search carefully before bringing this to them…

* * *

_“Aw, ain’t he a little angel?”_

_I sense that someone is speaking about me, and I realize with a jolt that I am awakening again.  The sensation of rising awareness is still foreign to me, something to which I have not grown accustomed._

_“Angels don’t sleep,” Sam responds to Dean._

_We’re still in the car.  When did I drift off?  I dislike the need for sleep that has started recently.  I feel tired, too tired to even open my eyes.  But if I keep them closed, unconsciousness could sneak in again.  I find that thought extremely disconcerting._

_“Sam, I got a bad feeling about this,” Dean says, and the tone of his voice makes me wonder if I should stay “asleep,” to give him a chance to talk.  It seems wrong to eavesdrop on their conversation like this, but we do not have much time left, and the world is ending anyway.  It is more important to allow them to have their last words, share all that’s left to be said in at least the illusion of privacy._

_“Well, you’d be nuts to have a good feeling about it,” is Sam’s reply._

_“You know what I mean.  Detroit.  He always said he’d jump your bones in Detroit.  Here we are.  Maybe this is him rolling out the red carpet, you know?  Maybe he knows something that we don’t.”_

_“Dean, I’m sure he knows a buttload we don’t,” Sam says—and he’s right, of course.  Lucifer’s older than all creations of this realm, excluding Michael.  “We just gotta hope he doesn’t know about the rings.”  There’s a short pause, and then Sam speaks again.  “Hey—um… on the subject, there’s something I gotta talk to you about.”_

_“What?”_

_“This thing goes our way and I… Triple Lindy into that box… you know I’m not coming back.”_

_“Yeah, I’m aware,” Dean says calmly, but I can_ feel _the undercurrent of pain in him, around him, emanating from his soul in waves.  I wish for a way to soothe it._

_“So you gotta promise me something.”_

_“Okay, yeah.  Anything.”_

_“You gotta promise not to try to bring me back.”_

_“What?  No, I didn’t sign up for that.”_

_“Dean—”_

_“Your Hell is gonna make my tour look like Graceland,” Dean interrupts heatedly.  “Y—you want me to just sit by and do nothing?”_

_“Once the cage is shut, you can’t go poking at it, Dean.  It’s too risky.”_

_“No, no, no, no, no.  As if I’m just gonna let you rot in there.”_

_“Yeah, you are,” Sam says firmly.  “You don’t have a choice.”_

_“You can’t ask me to do this.”_

_“I’m sorry, Dean.  You_ have _to.”_

_Silence._

_I suppose it_ was _a good idea for me not to interrupt.  They needed to have this conversation, even though it would have been better for them had I not been present to overhear it._

_And then Dean asks, “So then what am I supposed to do?”_

_“You go find Lisa,” Sam says.  Dean scoffs, but Sam continues, “You pray to God she’s dumb enough to take you in, and you… you have barbecues, and go to football games.  You go live some normal, apple-pie life, Dean.”_

_I barely manage to stop myself from wincing at the pain in my chest.  I don’t know what exactly this “apple-pie life” entails, but I’m sure it won’t include angels dropping in._

_“Promise me.”_

_Dean’s silent, but it’s already decided, even if Dean hasn’t admitted it to himself yet.  He won’t deny Sam this—he can’t.  And Sam knows this—that’s why he’s doing it._

_In all likelihood, we won’t make it out of this alive.  But if we do… I’ll miss Dean._

* * *

The flapping of wings alerts me to a brother’s arrival, and when I realize that I recognize his wing beats, I feel disbelief.  It’s hardly been two weeks since my resurrection.  How could Michael have finished that quickly?

“Hey, bro.”

He sounds just like he did the last time we spoke.

“That’s a fancy set of wings you got there.  I hear Michael was feeling generous when he raised you.  Although I figure he was just lonely.”

I turn around.  “Hello, Gabriel.”

He smiles.  “I’m still trying to decide whether or not I should be jealous that he brought you back first, before me.”

I don’t know what to say.  But Gabriel continues to speak, so my input becomes unnecessary.

“His excuse is that he needed to make sure that he could even make an archangel successfully before trying to revive me, that you were basically just an experiment.”  He eyes me for a moment, but I just watch him, waiting for him to make up his mind.  “That isn’t quite the truth though, is it?” he asks.

I only hesitate for a moment before responding.  “No,” I say.  “At least, that wasn’t the way I heard it.”

Gabriel tilts his head to the side.  “And what did he tell you?”

“That he wanted me back to get rid of the Leviathans, and that he wanted to thank me for giving him the opportunity to escape from the cage.”

“The cage?  Oh right, he was in the cage with Lucifer.  He did tell me that much.”  Gabriel then mulls over the possibilities that I’ve listed.  He shrugs.  “Okay, not jealous.  So, how are the two muttonheads?”

“Well.”

“Oh Castiel, you’re so _boring_ all the time, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know how to be any other way.  This is me.”

Gabriel laughs at this.  I fail to see any humor in the situation, or in my words.

“You take everything so seriously,” Gabriel says.  “Lighten up, eh?”

I just stare at him and wait for him to tell me the reason for his arrival.

“All right then, we’ll get straight to business,” he says with a sigh.  “Just know that all work and no play makes Cas a _very_ dull boy.”

I frown.  “What do you want, Gabriel?”

“What do _I_ want?  Oh no, today is much more about what _you_ want.  One-time offer.  You want my help?  You’ve got it.”

“But… why?”

“Because I’ve been dead for too long and I wanna kill something that needs killing.  And really, you’re asking me why?  Just accept already.”

I regard him seriously before nodding.  “Very well.  You saved my life right before you went and got yourself killed.  And you protected Sam and Dean.  That is enough for me.”

“Aw Cas, you’re making me blush.”

“That was not my intention.”

Gabriel nearly rolls his eyes.  “Now, how can I help you?”

“I… Have you heard of a creature called ‘the Spider’?”

“No.”

I frown at the rapidity of his response.  “You don’t need to think about that at all?”

“Nope.  Never heard of it.  What about it?”

I shake my head.  “If you don’t know anything about it, I don’t see how it’ll help to give you extra information.  I will contact you when I need your help.”

“Castiel, wait.”

I watch him closely.  “You know the Spider,” I say.  He doesn’t deny it.  “You lied.  I don’t know why you did it, only that you did.  I will not force you to give up your secret, but if you are unwilling to help, just tell me.  Do not lie.”

“Ah, no nonsense with you, I see,” Gabriel says.  “All right, so I might have met her before.  What do you want with her?”

“I just want to speak with her.”

“I don’t know how to find her.”

I can’t tell whether or not he’s being honest.  “Fine,” I say.  “I have no favors to ask from you at present, then.”

“Excellent,” Gabriel says.  “I’m going to drop in on the Winchesters now, if you’ll clue me in on their location at the moment.”

“I don’t trust you enough yet, I’m afraid.”

“Now that’s not really fair, is it?”

“I’m accepting your help.  That is already a stretch,” I say.

“I wanted to drop by, surprise them.”

“Trick them, you mean.”

Gabriel smirks.  “I _was_ a Trickster, for a very long time.”

“Very well.  I will take you to them and stay out of their sight, but I will not leave you alone with them.”

He rolls his eyes.  “You’re such an over-protective mother hen, aren’t you?”

“Insult me again, and I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that you never see the Winchesters again,” I threaten.

Gabriel’s on the verge of speaking but seems to think better of it.  “Let’s go, then.  I can’t wait to see the look on their faces,” he says, instead of whatever mutinous thoughts were turning within him.

I shut my eyes and focus on thoughts of Dean.

“What are you doing?” Gabriel asks.

“Testing a theory,” I answer.

Sure enough, after an extra moment of concentration, Dean’s location is revealed to me—he hasn’t left the motel.  So our bond has grown strong enough to overcome the protective sigils I placed on his ribs.  I tap Gabriel’s wing with one of my own before taking off, and he follows me down to Earth.  The trip passes quickly, and it feels refreshing to be shadowed by one whose wings are slightly larger than mine.

We land outside the warded motel room, and Gabriel frowns.

“Those sigils—”

“Crowley,” I say.  “It’s a long story.”

“Hmm.  How did you know the boys were here, if this place is so heavily warded?” Gabriel asks.

“I was here before.”

“And you knew they were still here because…?” he prods, squinting at me.

“Just go to the door.  Don’t you wish to speak to them?”

“You’ve activated a bond recently, brother,” Gabriel says, and I hate the fact that he can read that from my Grace—there’s nothing I can do about it.  He’s an archangel, slightly more powerful than I, and I can’t hide this from him.  “No,” he breathes.  “Is it possible?  With a human?”

“There’s a reason why it hasn’t been completed,” I say shortly.  “Now go.  Or I’ll fight you before I let you near them.”

“Well hey, there’s no reason to be so defensive.  I can try to help.”

“What can you do to help?  Michael said there was nothing to be done.  Even Death had nothing to offer.”

“Hmm, let’s see.  Well, it’s true that there’s nothing that’ll fix this permanently.  But if you and Dean are bonded… I’d advise staying in the same area as much as possible, but avoiding all direct physical contact.  This means no touching, at all.”

“And why would this be better than staying away altogether?”

“Isn’t that obvious?  Because then neither of you would be pining.  And besides, it hurts for mates—” he notices my flinch at his word choice but continues as though he hasn’t seen a thing “—to be separated for significant lengths of time.”

“Dean is not my… my _mate_.”

He laughs.  “That’s _exactly_ what he is.  You bonded, didn’t you?  That means you two love each other, or are destined to.  Bonds don’t form unless that’s true.  And you know it, Castiel.  We all do.”

He’s right.  But that doesn’t mean I must acknowledge it.  Besides, Dean’s human—that must alter the true meaning of the bond in some way.  I look pointedly at the door to Sam and Dean’s motel room and then back at Gabriel as if to say, “well?”

Gabriel shrugs and uncloaks himself before rapping on the door.  He changes his appearance, and I realize as he’s knocking that he’s taken Balthazar’s likeness.  I reach out and grip his wing, squeezing once in warning.  He gives me an exasperated sigh in response and jerks his wing out of my hand.

Then the door swings open, and Dean appears.  “Balthazar.  What’re you doing here?”

“Cas sent me,” Gabriel says.  “Let me in.”

Dean lifts a hand toward a spot on the wall near the door, but Sam appears, stopping him with a hand on his wrist.

“Don’t,” he says.  “That’s not him.”

“What are you talking about?” Gabriel says, spreading his hands out, palms facing up.

“Balthazar’s with me,” Sam says to Dean.  “That isn’t him.”

The brothers look at Gabriel distrustfully.

“All right, that didn’t _quite_ go according to plan,” Gabriel says.  Then he sighs.  “Leave it to Sam to ruin all the fun.  You always were a killjoy, weren’t you?”

Sam’s eyes widen, but they’re not focused on Gabriel.  “No—you’re _wrong_.”

I’m confused by the outburst, but Dean’s response clears it up for me.

“Sam, if the angel’s in your head, talk to him… in your head.  Got that?  I don’t need you spewing crazy to remind me.”

“He says that that’s Gabriel, Dean,” Sam says.

“ _What?_ ” Dean blurts out.  “But he’s dead.”

Gabriel’s just watching with amusement now, but I don’t see how any of this is funny.  My brother has a strange sense of humor, one that I’ll probably never understand.

“Well, Cas was dead too, and so was Balthazar, and now they’re both back.  It’s totally possible for Michael to have brought Gabriel back, too,” Sam reasons.

Dean nods.  “So Gabriel, huh?  Is it really you?”

“Yep!  The one and only,” Gabriel says, taking his old shape again.  “It’s nice to see you boys again.  And hey, looks like I was wrong.  Can’t believe you mooks actually made it happen.”

“Made what happen?” Dean asks.

“Lucifer!  You actually got him back into the cage—Horseman’s rings and all.  Can’t say I wasn’t surprised to hear that.  But right, I forgot.  It’s been a few years since I died, hasn’t it?”

Instead of answering, Sam asks his own question.  “What are you doing here, now?”

“Me?  Oh, I’m here to help.  Talked to Cas, had to get his permission to even _see_ you two because he’s so damn overprotective.  Gosh, from the way he acts, you’d think I’d done terrible things to you two, in the past.”

Dean clears his throat.  “Uh, yeah.  Maybe that’s because you did, you asshole.”

Gabriel laughs.  “Oh right, right, Mystery Spot!  I’d forgotten.  Good times, huh, Sammy?”

“Yeah, not really,” Sam says tightly.  “So uh, you’re really back.”

“Yessir, that I am.  Back in action.”

It’s quiet for a moment.

“So… are you two gonna let me in, or should I just hang out here?”

“Are you… when you say you’re here to help us, are you saying you’re planning on traveling with us, too?” Dean asks.

Gabriel shrugs.  “Why not?  Should make your hunts a lot easier, shouldn’t it?”

“You’re kidding me,” Sam says.  “You wouldn’t just help us like this.”

“All right, fine.  I’m doing this so you’ll trust me.”

“And you need our trust because…?” Dean asks.

Gabriel sighs, and one of his wings flares out toward me.  I bat it away.  “Because I need Castiel to trust me,” he says to the Winchesters.  “All jokes aside, I do legitimately care about you guys now, and I’ve died once to prove it.  I just want to be trusted by my own side.  Is that too much to ask?”

Sam and Dean seem to consider it for a moment.  I step closer, reaching out and pressing a hand to the back of the wing that I just pushed away.  He can’t ignore the pulse of approval I give him.

“Balthazar says he doesn’t trust Gabriel if Cas doesn’t,” Sam says.

Dean sighs.  “Balthazar, if you can hear us, can you just get out here and speak for yourself?  I don’t exactly like the idea of you messing with my brother’s head.”

Balthazar appears inside the room.  “You should be more grateful, Dean.  I’m doing your brother a favor.”

Gabriel shakes his head.  “Balthazar, how can you be sure Castiel doesn’t trust me?”

Balthazar only tilts his head to the side slightly, but I see from his expression that he knows of my presence and has deduced that I’m here to watch over Gabriel.

“Are you two communicating in silent angel-speak or something?” Dean asks.  “Because if you are, you can take it somewhere else.  I’m not interested in watching your staring contest.”

“I can go.  Sam, you’ll be all right for the time being, won’t you?” Balthazar says.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Sam replies.  “It’s gotten a lot better—thanks.”

Dean bristles a bit at the exchange but steps aside to let Balthazar pass by him.  When my brother just looks at him pointedly, Dean huffs exasperatedly and lifts his arm to scrape at some of the marks on the wall.

As soon as he’s finished, Gabriel vanishes, shifting back into existence inside the room.  Balthazar instantly spins around and throws his wings up as though to shield the Winchesters, and I feel a burst of… pride?—no, that isn’t quite right—more like approval, gratefulness, or happiness, or a combination of all three, at Balthazar’s instinctive reaction.

But I do need to step in to prevent the situation from escalating.  I shift into the room between Gabriel and Balthazar.  “It’s fine,” I say.

“Cas,” Balthazar says as he pulls his wings back to his sides.  “I wasn’t sure you’d show yourself.”

“Wait… has he been here this whole time?” Dean asks.

“Only since Gabriel appeared,” Balthazar replies.

“You could have said something,” Sam says.

“So, what do you think, Cas?” Gabriel asks.

“Sam and Dean can decide for themselves how much they want to trust you,” I say.  “As for me, I believe that you will not allow too much harm to befall them.”

“Too much?” Sam says, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, too much.  Because you and Dean inevitably get into trouble.  It is impossible to keep you from getting hurt at all.  I’ve found myself incapable of doing so in the past, despite my best efforts.”

“Since when did you ever give your best effort to ensure our safety?” Dean asks, and the question stings me.  Does he not remember the times that I hurried to them in order to save them?  I have considered myself as the Winchesters’ guardian for a long time now, and it wounds me that he doesn’t realize it.

“Uh, Dean?  I don’t know what you’re smoking, but Cas has saved our asses tons of times,” Sam says.

Dean grumbles something and looks away.

“Cas, don’t take it to heart,” Gabriel says, smirking at Dean.  “He’s just cranky because he has to put so much effort into not putting his hands all over you.”

“Shut up, you son of a bitch,” Dean growls.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gabriel’s smirk widens.  “Oh, I know _exactly_ what I’m talking about.  You can’t stop thinking about it, can you?  Wanna feel the heat again, that rush—”

Dean’s face is turning red, and his hands have clenched into fists, and I clip Gabriel on the back of the head with one of my wings to stop him midsentence.

“That’s enough,” I say firmly.

“Out,” Dean says, pointing at the door.  “Get out, now.”

“Dean, it’s fine,” Sam says in an attempt to calm his brother.  “We all know about the bond—”

“I don’t _care_ that he knows, Sam!  I don’t want him in here, mocking me!” Dean snaps.  “Now, out!”

“I’m an archangel.  You can’t just kick me out,” Gabriel says coolly.

Balthazar steps forward.  “Maybe he can’t, but Cas and I can.”

I wonder when Balthazar became so protective over the brothers—he’s reminded me several times that he doesn’t care for Dean at all.  It dawns on me that he may very well be doing this, _all_ of this, for me.  I owe him so much.

“Oh, you guys are no fun at all,” Gabriel says, mock-pouting for a moment.  Then he smiles widely.  “I guess I’ll just have to drop in later.  See you then!”

He spreads his cloaked wings out fully, as though to remind Balthazar and me of his superiority, before taking off.  I trace his ascent back to Heaven and wonder if—or rather, _when_ —he’ll be back.  He seems to be interested in the battle this time.

“Dean, is it really that bad?” Sam asks.

“Don’t listen to a goddamn word that son of a bitch says.  He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Sam’s brow furrows.  “Don’t lie to me, Dean.  I’m not stupid.  And I’m not blind, either.  You haven’t stopped staring at Cas for longer than a few seconds at a time ever since he showed up.”

I blink and glance at Dean, surprised.  I’d been so focused on the archangel in the room that I hadn’t _really_ noticed Dean’s gaze on me.  I’m becoming accustomed to fighting the pull of his soul on my Grace, so it doesn’t seem as severe as before.  But I doubt that Dean can match my level of restraint.

“I received a suggestion that may be helpful,” I say, remembering what Gabriel told me before approaching the Winchesters.  “I’ll stay with you—specifically Dean—as much as possible, but we can have no physical contact.”

“You mean you’re just going to stick around here and force me to resist temptation for the rest of my life?” Dean blurts out.

“Not the rest of your life,” I respond.

“Isn’t it a relief to at least have Cas in the same room?” Balthazar asks Dean.  “Try to be satisfied with that.”

Dean glares at my brother.  “I can’t,” he says through gritted teeth, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Sam wince.  It must be difficult for him to see his brother struggling with the situation.

“I am sorry, Dean,” I say.  “If you would prefer to have me stay away—”

“No, don’t do that,” he interrupts, as I expected him to.  “Just… fuck.”

Without another word, he stomps into the bathroom and slams the door shut.

“I suppose we can allow him a bit of privacy,” Balthazar says.  “Sam, I think it’s a good time for us to see if you can overcome the hallucinations on your own.”

Sam nods, looking around the room.  “Yeah, we can try that.  I actually don’t see Lucifer anywhere right now, so… so yeah, that’s a good sign.”

“Indeed,” Balthazar agrees.  He glances at me.  “If you’re going to be staying here, I’m sure you’ll watch the boys yourself.  Is there anything you’d like me to do?”

“No,” I decide.  “Take the time to do something you enjoy.  I know there are many activities that you like on Earth.”

He smiles.  “Until next time, then, Cas.  And you, Sam.”

“Bye,” Sam says.

I only brush my wing against his shoulder in farewell.  And then he shifts out of our dimension.

The shower goes on in the bathroom, and Sam and I look at each other.

“How long are you sticking around?”

“I don’t know yet,” I say.  “This is something we should discuss with Dean when he has finished his shower.  I am going to assess whether or not it is safe for me to be within his reach.  If the bond has grown to the point that he cannot control himself around me, then it will be safer if I stay away, even if it puts him in more pain.”

“Pain?  He’s actually _in pain_ when you’re not around?” Sam asks, eyes widening a bit.

“Close to it.  His soul is restless.  It tugs and tears at itself when I’m not nearby because it feels incomplete.  It is searching for its ‘missing piece,’ so to speak.”

Sam moves to one of the beds and sits down with a sigh.  “Pain or death.  That’s just…” he lets his voice fade away, and then he sighs again.  “Will it continue for his soul even after he dies?  Will it still be so difficult for him?”

“I am not sure.  This pain is partly tied to his human body.  I don’t know what will happen when his body perishes and his soul is taken to Heaven.”

Sam shakes his head.  “God, this sucks.”

I can’t help but agree.


	18. Babe I'm Gonna Leave You

_“What are you gonna do now?” Dean asks me._

_Well, I can’t stay on Earth.  Without Dean, nothing remains for me, here.  “Return to Heaven, I suppose,” I answer._

_“Heaven?”_

_“With Michael in the cage, I’m sure it’s total anarchy up there.”  This I do believe._

_“So, what, you’re the new sheriff in town?”_

_I smile.  “Yeah.  I like that, yeah.  I suppose I am.”_

_“Wow.  God gives you a brand new, shiny set of wings, and suddenly you’re His bitch again.”_

_“I don’t know what God wants.  I don’t know if He’ll even return.  It just… seems like the right thing to do.”  Because I can’t stay here._

_“Well, if you do see Him, you tell Him I’m coming for Him next.”_

_I turn my head to look at Dean, and he meets my gaze readily.  “You’re angry.”_

_“That’s an understatement.”_

_“He helped. Maybe even more than we realize.”_

_“That’s easy for you to say—He brought you back.  But what about Sam?  What about me, huh?  Where’s my grand prize?  All I got is my brother in a hole!”_

_“You got what you asked for, Dean.  No paradise.  No Hell.  Just more of the same.  I mean it, Dean.  What would you rather have: peace, or freedom?”_

_He looks… sad.  I want to tell him that I’ll be here for him, that I can stay as long as he needs me.  But he promised Sam.  He promised his brother that he’ll go live a normal life, and that means I can’t stick around.  Normal human beings do not have room for angels in their lives._

_I take one last, long look at him, as though I still need it to commit his features to memory.  As though I haven’t had him memorized since I first put his body back together again._

_Then I take flight, with Heaven in mind as my destination._

_But there is one last thing I must do, one last thing I must try.  I must attempt to raise Sam Winchester.  I have taken a soul from Hell once—I can do it again._

_And then I hear Dean’s voice, a sentence intended for me._

You really suck at goodbyes, you know that?

_I ache a little, want to return and fix that by bidding farewell properly, but the chance has gone already.  Better for him if he thinks that I don’t need him—it’ll be easier for him to keep Sam’s promise to live a normal life.  So I continue down toward Hell._

_I’m sorry, Dean._

* * *

“Cas, you here?”

Dean’s back.  I wait for him to put his things down before uncloaking myself.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hello, Dean.”

I’ve been traveling with them for four days, but this is the first time that Dean and I have been left alone.  As this fact sinks in, my desire to touch him spikes.  He’s turned away from me, rummaging through his bag, but it’s clear that he’s not really looking for anything, that he’s just trying to keep his hands busy.

“Where’s Sam?” I ask.

“He uh, he went to the bar to talk to Dahlia again.  He’s sure that there’s something she’s not telling us, and he thinks it’s because she was scared of me.”

Dahlia Everdeen is the younger of a pair of siblings.  She and her older sister moved into town a week ago.  Four days after moving in, they started hearing strange sounds from the attic, but they never found anything when they went up to check.  Two days ago, her sister was found hanging just a few feet away from the ladder leading up to the attic.  The local police decided that it was a suicide, but Dahlia thought otherwise.  A friend of hers had received help from Sam and Dean in the past and directed her to them.  A cursory glance around the place revealed the presence of a ghost, but even I couldn’t identify it.

These are the facts that I know about the case—Sam and Dean seem to have gathered more, but they don’t include me when questioning humans because I apparently don’t fit well into the role of a police officer.

“So he sent you back here.  I see,” I say.

Dean turns to look at me and has to turn away quickly, hands clenched into fists.

“Dean… answer me honestly.  Would it be easier for you if I just stayed away?  It seems more and more difficult for you to restrain yourself,” I say.  The proximity makes it harder for me as well, to be completely frank.

His shoulders slump a bit, and I feel his resignation.  “Cas, just do whatever you want.  You don’t have to stay here if you’ve got other stuff to do.”

I take a few steps toward him.  “Dean—”

He whirls around without warning and wraps one large hand around my throat, stepping forward and pressing me back several steps until I’m trapped between the wall and his body.  I feel as though every part of me that comes into contact with him has gone up in flame.  His eyes are dark, his jaw clenched tight.

“Dean, it’s all right,” I say softly.

He shakes his head.  “Nothing’s all right,” he growls.  “Nothing is _right_ about this.  I can’t… can’t…” he breaks off and tightens his hand around my neck as he leans in, closer.

I struggle to hold still, to stop myself from crushing our lips together.  “Think, Dean.  Focus.  You can control yourself.”

“I can’t,” he says, wild-eyed.

I reach out with my Grace, attempting to soothe him, but my proximity only makes his soul strain harder, and he takes the last step, so that our bodies are pressed together.  His lips press against mine, and for a moment, the kiss is soft.  But then he leans forward, forcing his way into my mouth, and I feel physically incapable of leaving.  His taste is dizzying, addictive, distinctly _Dean_ in a way that I cannot describe in words.

Some distant part of me realizes that this is wrong.  I shouldn’t be putting him in more danger.  He’s clearly lost the ability stop himself, and control is rapidly slipping from my grasp as well.  I just don’t want to lose the taste that fills my mouth, or the scent of leather and gunpowder that I’ve always associated with Dean.

I become aware of the fact that my hands have gripped fistfuls of Dean’s shirt, just above his shoulder blades.  My arms are tensed with the effort of keeping away from his left shoulder, and I’m relieved that this has become instinctive for me.

Suddenly Dean pulls his head back, gasping for breath and pressing his forehead against mine.  “Fuck.  Cas, you… you’ve gotta go,” he mutters breathlessly.  “I can’t… I can’t guarantee what I will or won’t do to keep you here if you don’t go.”

“Dean, if you have enough control to realize this, there’s hope that—”

“ _Go_ ,” Dean urges, even as his right hand grips the back of my neck and his left slides between my back and the wall to hold me to him.

I really should leave, but he has better control over himself than I’d thought, and this gives me hope.  Maybe he can overcome—

“Get the hell outta here, dammit!” Dean shouts at me.

But when his mouth descends on mine, I’m just as powerless as I was a moment ago.  The _need_ has definitely gotten stronger, to the point that I can’t even begin to suppress it when his tongue is thrusting roughly into my mouth.

Then Dean is ripped away from me, and I can’t help the noise of protest that bubbles out of my throat.

“Whoa there, that was getting _just_ a bit out of hand.”

“Gabriel,” Dean says unevenly, trying to brush my brother’s hands off his arms.  Irrational jealousy flares up in me at the sight of Gabriel’s hands on Dean.  _My_ Dean.

“Go ahead, Cas.  I’ll take care of this one.”

“How… how did you find us?” I ask as I regain my breath.  I’m still incapable of looking away from Gabriel’s hands.  I’m relieved when Dean finally shakes him off and takes a few steps away from both of us.

“You’re not thinking straight,” Gabriel says.  “You’re my brother.  S’long as you’re not hiding, I can find your skinny ass.”

I take a deep, unnecessary breath.  My whole being—body and Grace alike—is tingling.  It’s not painful but not pleasant either, just _there_.  It’s an urge to touch, to get closer to Dean.  I don’t want to leave the brothers alone with Gabriel, but I really need to leave, if this is what will happen whenever Dean and I are left alone.

“Trust me,” Gabriel says.  “It’ll get better if you go now.”

Dean turns to face me, but he doesn’t lift his eyes to meet mine, keeping them fixed on the ground by my feet.  “Go on, Cas.  I’ll be fine,” he says.

I spread my wings to take off and remember something that Dean once said to me about saying my goodbyes.  I pause and look at him.  “Goodbye, Dean.”

His eyes flit up to mine, and in those endless green pools, I see surprise.

“Bye, Cas.”

* * *

_Chaos._

_Thick clouds of demonic smoke rush all around the place, and souls cower low to the ground, trying to stay out of the way of the fighting._

_Hell has become utter chaos, after the imprisonment of Lucifer._

_I am silent, maintaining a low profile so that the demons will continue to fight each other.  If I reveal my true nature, they will band up against me, unify—if only momentarily—in order to drive out the heavenly intruder._

_I did not anticipate this level of in-fighting, but it’s convenient, because I am able to pass unnoticed as long as I keep my dark, newly-reformed wings close around my Grace.  The temperature drops alarmingly as I near the room from which I had taken Dean, and I am not surprised to find it empty of demons.  Some souls are still strapped to the racks, but they aren’t being tortured.  The room has been abandoned by demons in favor of fighting for superiority.  I wonder who will rise to the fore, whether or not Hell will remain divided as it was before, or if it will become unified under one leader._

_But this is inconsequential to me, at the present.  My only objective is to retrieve the body and soul of Sam Winchester._

_All angels know—theoretically—how to reach Lucifer’s cage.  The main reason why Uriel and his small following didn’t attempt to release him directly from the cage was because they had no way to open it, not without breaking the seals.  The way to the cage cannot be mapped, because the landscape of Hell is constantly shifting.  Major areas—such as the torture room—remain stationary, but paths and smaller landmarks scramble randomly.  So the trick to finding the cage lies in following the temperature gradient.  Lucifer’s cage is the coldest place in Hell._

_With this in mind, I studiously monitor the temperature as I move, always choosing the direction of less warmth.  It becomes progressively colder, until it’s nearly unbearable, but I keep moving, sure that I have the strength for this.  If I was brought back, it must have been for a reason.  And what reason is more important than raising Sam, right now?_

_I don’t know how much time passes before I finally reach the passage to the cage—has it been hours or days?  Weeks?  In all this time, only one demon has managed to recognize me for what I am, but I was able to subdue him before he alerted the others._

_The passage is short, and at the end, I step out into what is truly freezing cold.  My wings stiffen to the point that I can hardly move them.  It’s difficult to tuck them behind me.  I move slowly toward the cage, which is bound by invisible barriers.  Within, I only see a heavily injured Lucifer, and then Adam and Sam._

_Lucifer, even thus injured, is breathtaking.  He was titled “The Morning Star” for a reason, after all.  Iridescent colors radiate outward from him, and I remember him in his former glory, the way all the light of Heaven seemed to converge upon him.  In his true form, it is not difficult to see why angels Fell for him, why Uriel and others like him wished to free this seemingly perfect being._

_“Where’s Michael?” I ask._

_My brother looks at me mutely._

_“He can’t have left the cage.  Where is he?”_

_“I killed him,” Lucifer says simply.  I don’t really believe him.  “So, why are you here?  Going to try to rescue poor little Sammy?”_

_I look at the two humans and am alarmed to see Adam’s head twisted at an impossible angle.  Sam’s cradling his half-brother’s torso, staring blankly at the ground right in front of him and murmuring something that I cannot make out._

_“What happened to them?” I ask._

_“I killed Michael.  Naturally, Adam’s soul was disintegrated too,” Lucifer says._

_I shake my head.  “If Michael died, we would all have felt it.”_

_Lucifer just shrugs.  “Explain how it is that he’s absent, then,” he responds._

_I look more closely at the inhabitants of the cage, but I can’t sense Michael’s presence anywhere.  Adam’s is absent as well.  I don’t… understand.  Do the rules work differently in the cage?  Is it really possible for Michael to have passed without making a huge impact on us?_

_Then I remember that the fact that he’s down here means the Host must have taken a hit already.  Lucifer’s first caging was felt by all.  Perhaps death in the cage would not resound through the Host.  I shake my head.  No—the death of an archangel would_ have _to have an effect.  Michael could just be in hiding.  Archangels are capable of hiding from the eyes of average angels._

_“Sam,” I say._

_Dean’s brother lifts his head at the mention of his name, but his eyes are unseeing._

_“Sam, it’s me.  Castiel.”_

_Lucifer laughs._

_“What is so funny?” I ask._

_He shakes his head. “Nothing, dear brother.  Go on—take Sam.  I know that you have the key, and that you won’t open the cage wide enough for me to make it through.  I don’t have the strength to stop you.”_

_I hesitate for a moment before pulling out the key, made of the Horsemen’s rings, that I swiped from Dean.  I will return it to him before he notices.  And if he does notice, I suppose I could stash it somewhere so he’ll happen upon it eventually._

_I throw the key against the invisible barrier, and it sticks._

_“Sam,” I say.  “Sam, come to me.”_

_Sam gets to his feet obediently, setting his half-brother’s body on the ground gently.  There is more light in his eyes than there was before, and this gives me confidence.  I recite the incantation used to open the cage door, and Lucifer twitches, lets out a sigh of relief as though he’s finally breathing fresh air.  Sam comes toward the exit._

_Then I sense motion from behind me and, despite the cold, manage to throw out one of my wings before the intruder can run past me and into the cage.  I turn my head to see Meg, staring at me with furious eyes._

_“Father!” she calls, and Lucifer just looks at her.  “Father, come out!”_

_Sam has reached the opening now, and I reach a hand out to pull him through—he seems too weak to step through himself.  It takes some effort, and the extreme cold makes it difficult to move.  But he comes across to me, and Meg darts around my wing as soon as Sam has cleared the entrance._

_I release Sam and grasp Meg’s arm before she can make it to the opening.  If she widens the gap, then Lucifer may be able to squeeze out._

_“No,” I growl in her ear, holding my other hand out as I start the incantation for closing the cage._

_Meg lets out an enraged scream and turns around to attack me, trying to free herself from my grip, but her efforts are futile.  She stabs two knives into my chest, but they are only nuisances.  The tiny bit of hope in Lucifer’s eyes goes out, and he looks at Meg disappointedly._

_“Father, I will free you,” Meg vows.  “I know the way now, and I_ will _free you.”_

_I thrust her to the side and extract the two knives from my chest before retrieving the key to the cage.  I turn in time to see Sam lunging toward Meg in an attempt to attack her.  But he’s been immobile for too long and has not the strength to do so.  She skips out of his reach, chances one last glance at her creator, and then hurries out of the passage from which we came.  It’s not surprising at all that I didn’t notice her following me, with all the chaos outside._

_“Cas,” Sam says, eyes surprised.  “Thanks.”_

_“Oh, Sam,” Lucifer says with clear humor in his Voice.  “We’re not even close to done here.  Just you wait.”_

_“No,” I say, shaking my head.  “Sam is done with you, forever.  I will not allow you to come anywhere near him again.”_

_Sam is smiling at me when I grip his elbow to lead him out of this cold place.  He grimaces when the pace is too fast for him to keep up, so I slow down to accommodate him.  But when we near the end of the passage, I get a better hold on him._

_“We may have to fly out.  Hell is in uproar now, and it’ll be impossible for me to ferry you out inconspicuously, as bright as your soul is,” I say._

_As the words pass my lips, I glance at Sam and frown.  His soul seems brighter than it did before.  Different.  But then Sam nods and steps closer to me with an entirely trusting look in his eyes, and my doubt fades.  Sam probably only seems to shine more now than before because he’s in the middle of such a bloody, dark place._

_I take off, Sam in tow, and am surprised to see that the fighting has died down drastically.  The number of demons has decreased by a fairly large amount, and the remaining fighters are losing motivation.  A few demons notice me, but they’re too weak to actually band together and do anything against me.  How much happened since I went into the passage?  I’m tempted to stay here and observe, to see who—if anyone—has taken over, and how Hell will be run._

_But I need to take Sam back to Earth, so that is what I will do._

* * *

I land in a small restaurant in France and look around, surprised by my surroundings.  I didn’t expect Balthazar to be here.  He’s sitting across from a young woman at a table on the opposite side of the room, and I start toward them, only to be stopped by a man who can only be a waiter.

“Excusez-moi, monsieur—”

I’m too impatient and worked up to allow him to finish speaking, so I fly to Balthazar’s side.  He glances up at me, slight surprise registering on his features, before looking back at his companion.

“So sorry,” he says with an apologetic smile.  “It looks like I have somewhere else to be.”

Meanwhile, it seems the waiter from across the restaurant has fainted, causing some commotion.  Already restless, I grab Balthazar by the shoulder and take flight, heading straight up for Heaven.

“ _What_ is your problem?” he demands when we land.

I don’t respond, choosing to take a few steps away from him instead.  He frowns but says nothing, waiting for an explanation.  When it becomes apparent to him that none is coming, he walks over to me with a sigh.

“Cas, you know I would have taken my leave the moment you sent for me.  What was the rush?”

“I… I can’t stay with Sam and Dean.  Dean and I cannot be left alone, so I am going to stay away from him.  Gabriel is with them now, and—”

“You’d like me to keep an eye on him.”

I nod.  “I can perform a concealment charm on you, if you’d like, so Gabriel won’t discover your presence.  Or you could resume your position in Sam’s mind.  He’s been improving lately.  The rate of recovery is… remarkable.  It’s hardly been two weeks, and already he only sees Lucifer two or three times a day.”  Talking about issues other than my bond with Dean eases me slightly, and I feel much more relaxed than before.

“I’ll return to Sam’s mind.  It’s easier,” Balthazar says.  “Will that be all?”

My lips quirk up slightly, more to the left than the right.  “I do have one question.”

Balthazar raises an eyebrow at what must be a foreign expression on my face.  “What is it?”

“Did I just interrupt… a _date_ , Balthazar?”

He chuckles.  “So you’re teasing me now, Cas.  I don’t know whether to thank or smite that Dean Winchester,” he says in jest.  I only smile, so he moves on.  “Well, I’ll be off now.  Better make sure Gabriel hasn’t fed your dearly beloved to the pagans.”

Without waiting for a response, he vanishes, and I focus on Dean—it’s not difficult to center my thoughts on him when so much of me is screaming to return to him, to claim him as my… my _mate_.  I still feel intense distaste at Gabriel’s use of that word to describe the “relationship” between Dean and me, but the pain I feel right at the core of my Grace tells me that that is exactly what he has become to me, even I do not hold that sort of significance to him.

I find that Dean is still in the motel room, and I can’t sense any distress coming from him, so no pagans.  This is good.  Then again, I don’t know how much emotion can be transferred through this bond.  Remembering the rising sense of panic that I felt when I was at the Great Wall about a week and a half ago, I am certain that severe distress will draw me to him automatically, whether or not he’s consciously asking for my help.

I shake away the thoughts and consider what must be done next.  I need to find this Spider and see what she knows, and this brings me back to the problem of entering Purgatory.  I cannot just create another lunar eclipse—I do not have the power to manipulate the sun and moon into the correct positions.

There must be another way.

* * *

_I’ve just finished hiding the key to the cage back with Dean—he’s now at Lisa Braeden’s house in Michigan—when I see Sam standing outside, watching his brother sit down to dinner.  I land a few feet from him, cloaked, and wait to see what he’ll do.  Knowing Sam, he’ll rush to Dean and get a hug.  He won’t be able to explain how he came back to life because I removed his memories of being raised—I did the same for Dean when I raised him—but Dean will probably be too happy to even care about that._

_But before I’ve even finished speculating, Sam nods with a satisfied air and turns to walk away.  Taken by surprise, I can only watch as he walks right past me and down the street.  I follow him through the suburban area until he reaches the small town, where he steals a car and drives away._

_A few hours later, it becomes apparent that he’s heading toward Bobby’s place.  Satisfied that he’ll be safe, I decide that I’ve spent enough time settling affairs.  I fly back to Lisa Braeden’s home to get another look at Dean before taking my leave._

_He looks… happy.  He and Ben are talking animatedly about something that humans call “cthulhu.”  We angels have also heard that they exist, but only in Purgatory.  They have never broken the barrier and entered any of the regions.  Not Earth, not Heaven, not even Hell._

_Clearing my mind of inconsequential thoughts, I manage a smile in Dean’s direction, looking in from outside the window.  I’m cloaked and could technically enter the room without being noticed, but I don’t want to be tempted to speak with him directly._

_“Goodbye, Dean,” I whisper._

_His head snaps up and whips toward the window, and despite the fact that I know he can only see through me, I still feel pinned by his deep green eyes.  He… he can’t possibly have_ heard _me._

_Then Lisa says something from the doorway, stealing Dean’s attention, and I let out a breath.  This is really it.  I watch as Dean walks out of the room, and then I turn away and take flight._

_I return to the realm of Heaven in which I am most comfortable._

_“You’re alive.”_

_This is the first time I’ve seen Rachel since she retrieved Balthazar’s blade and threatened to kill me.  She looks well, as do the other angels behind her.  They must have known that I would come here, remembered that this was my favorite place in Heaven._

_“Yes,” I reply._

_“Castiel, we saw Lucifer destroy you.”_

_“Well, I came back.”_

_“But Lucifer?  Michael?”_

_“They’re gone.”_

_“It was God, wasn’t it?” she asks, eyes full of hope and faith._

_“No,” I respond.  “It was the Winchesters.  They brought down the Apocalypse.”_

_“But you beat the archangels, Castiel.  God brought you back.  He chose you, Castiel… to lead us.”_

_“No,” I repeat, shaking my head.  “No one leads us anymore.  We’re all free to make our own choices and to choose our own fates.”_

_“What does God want?”_

_“God wants you to have freedom.”_

_“But what does he want us to do with it?”_

_I frown.  Freedom is something that I discovered on my own.  Can it be taught?  Even more daunting is the idea of teaching it to angels—we were created to obey, not to act of our own free will._

_This… will be difficult._


	19. The Tet Offensive

“Hello, Cas.  Thank you for coming.”

“You said it was urgent,” I say.

Crowley called for me a moment ago, and I came as soon as he used the word _urgent_.

“And it is,” Crowley says.  “The Leviathans have replaced two key senators with their own, and they’ve already leaked some news about Dick Roman’s closet project.  Right now, the good news is that the U.S. government has enough red tape to cover up the entire Empire State Building, which means it’ll be a while before they take any action.  The bad news is that there are two meetings going on in a few minutes, and there’s a huge overlap.  I have one senator possessed per meeting to keep an eye on the Leviathans.”

“Prudent,” I say.  “You called me for a reason.  What do you need from me?”

“I’d like you to make sure the demon in one of these meetings isn’t flushed out.  I’ll be watching over the other one, but I can’t be in two places at once,” Crowley says.

“The Leviathan may be able to sense my presence.”

“I can’t afford to lose these two,” Crowley says.  “It’s difficult to come by demons that are smart enough to possess politicians convincingly.  The majority of them are morons, not adaptable.”

“Very well,” I say.  “I can keep an eye on your demon.  Where should I be, and when?”

Crowley smiles.  “You’ll be watching over a small luncheon—only ten senators and the President, taking place in about… thirty minutes, on the South Lawn at the White House.  That plot of land might be discussed at some point.  The luncheon shouldn’t last more than an hour.  I’ll be able to take over for you about forty minutes in.  If I don’t show up, something’s gone wrong.  Stay until my demon is out of the place before coming to look for me, yes?”

I frown.  “Are you that selfless, really?” I ask.

The demon chuckles.  “No.  I’ll be able to protect myself.  It’s just that if I don’t come, I may have gone into hiding.  I’ll make sure _you_ can still find me, of course.”

“All right, then.  What is the name of the man I should be watching?”

“Jimmy Roberts.  And the Leviathan at the luncheon has assumed the identity of Paige Plant.  Now, I’ve got to go,” he says.  “Thirty minutes, Cas.  Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

Crowley nods his approval before vanishing, and I consider returning to Dean.  It’ll be good to see him, make sure that he’s all right—it’s been exactly one week since we parted ways, and I miss him intensely.

Mind made up, I head to the last motel room they rested in.  I’ve been keeping track of their progress in the past week.  It’s empty when I arrive, but I can sense their approach—it’s not difficult, now that they have an archangel traveling with them.

About five minutes later, the door opens.

“I’m just saying, it’s more fun on hunts when we actually get to kill the sons of bitches,” Dean says as he enters.  I feel instant relief at being in his presence, and I can detect a mirroring sensation emanating from his soul.

“But if the goal is to kill monsters, you’ve gotta admit I make your jobs a hell of a lot easier,” Gabriel says, grinning as he follows Dean into the room.

Dean doesn’t respond to him, a surprised smile on his face when he sees me.  “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Gabriel makes a gagging noise behind Dean, and Sam, bringing up the rear, sniggers as he lets the door swing shut behind him.

“Dude.  Shut up.  Pretty messed up situation we’ve got here already,” Dean says.

“Actually, Cas, you’ve got pretty great timing,” Sam says.  “Dean and I wanted to discuss something with you.”

Gabriel frowns.  “Discuss something with Cas?  I’ve been here the whole time.  How is this the first time I’m hearing of it?  I know you two dimwits aren’t telepathic.”

“You haven’t been here the _whole_ time,” Sam says.

“But I… that was only… how were you two awake?  You couldn’t have—I made sure you were asleep before I left,” Gabriel says.

“About that… we had a bit of help,” Sam says.

Gabriel sighs.  “Balthazar.  You know, I resent that you two trust that runt over me.”

“That _runt_ is my closest friend,” I point out.  I instantly sense a pulse of anger—jealousy, maybe?  But it’s not Gabriel’s emotions that I’m tapping into.  And I realize it must be Dean.  My right wing reaches out instinctively to soothe him, but Gabriel’s suddenly arches into the way, blocking my path.

_Careful, Castiel_ , he cautions.

“Okay, can we just get back to the point?” Sam says—both humans are oblivious to our actions.  “It’s not a genius plan or anything,” Sam continues.

“Yeah, we’re not even sure it’s possible,” Dean adds.

“What is it?” I ask, folding my wing behind me again.

Gabriel withdraws his as well, and as Dean says, “Death’s scythe,” Gabriel silently asks me, _Shouldn’t you be keeping your distance?_

“Wait—Death’s scythe?” Gabriel asks aloud.  “You _are_ aware that Death doesn’t take sides, aren’t you?  He just collects souls.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be able to kill anything, though?” Sam asks.  “That should include Leviathans.”

“What makes you think Death will just hand his weapon over?” I ask.

“Well, it’s not as though he needs it or anything,” Dean says.  “He could just loan it to us.”

“It’s dangerous,” Gabriel says.  “If you’re in possession of it for too long, it’ll kill you, and you won’t realize it until it’s too late.  The thing gets stolen now and again, but Death never minds, because the thief always dies, and the scythe always returns to him, one way or another.”

I remember that Crowley had delivered the scythe to Dean last time, and I’m suddenly grateful that Death had taken back his weapon when he met Dean in Chicago.

“But… is it true?  _Can_ it kill anything?” Sam presses.

“Theoretically, yes,” I respond, looking at Gabriel for confirmation.

He nods.  “It should work, but I’m telling you, this is a terrible idea.”

“I won’t let you do it,” I say.

“ _Let_ us?  Since when do we need your permission, highness?” Dean asks.

I frown at him.  “I won’t let you and Sam put your lives in danger trying to steal something that could end up killing you anyway.  And mortals should not brush with Death so often.”

“Well, I think we’ve died enough times to be considered exceptions,” Dean says.

I shake my head.  “No, Dean.  I’m not above asking Balthazar to give Sam a blinding headache every time he thinks of a scythe.”

My words infuriate Dean, and his anger hits me like a physical blow—it _hurts_.

“Don’t you dare—” he starts, stepping toward me, but Sam puts a hand on his chest, stopping him from advancing “—threaten Sam.  You should know better.”

“I’m only threatening him because I know it’ll make you listen.”

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but Gabriel speaks up before he can.

“Let’s just take this down a notch, okay?  Nobody’s threatening anybody.”

I try again, this time going for what is less likely to antagonize Dean.  “I would… appreciate it if you and Sam stay away from Death, if at all possible.”

“Just because you’re asking nicely—”

“Sure,” Sam cuts him off.  “We’ll think of another way.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

Dean sighs heavily.  “How’s the Leviathan-banishing coming along, anyway?  Got any bright ideas?  ‘Cause if you’ve got something better than Death’s scythe, I’m all ears.”

“I am working on a lead,” I say.

“Perfect,” Dean says.  “Why don’t you share with the class?”

Sam smacks Dean’s arm.  “Dude.  What’s your problem?”

“What’s _your_ problem?” Dean shoots back.  “Shouldn’t you be siding with me instead of Cas?”

“I wasn’t aware that we were on different sides, Dean,” I say.

Dean waves away my statement and says, “Why don’t you just tell us what you’re working on?”

I glance at Gabriel.  “I am searching for a creature referred to as the Spider.  She predicts the future.  When I went back to Richard Griech’s first appearance on Earth, he mentioned her, said that she had predicted how the Leviathans would achieve their freedom.”

“Then… is this Spider in Purgatory?” Sam asks.

“Yes.  I was reluctant to tell you about her because I understand that you disapprove of opening another door to that realm.  I have been searching for some alternate method of entry, because I am incapable of manipulating the positions of celestial bodies in order to create another lunar eclipse.”

“Cas, don’t you think you caused enough chaos the last time you opened Purgatory?” Dean asks.

“At least he’s telling us first, this time,” Sam says.  He turns to me and continues, “Besides, you won’t be taking in souls again this time, will you?”

I shake my head.  “I only wish to speak to her.”

“What good will that do?” Sam asks.

“I want to know her exact predictions.  It will help to see whether or not she’s been right about every single detail so we know whether or not the events she has foreseen can be altered.  Also, if she’s so powerful a creature, she may have useful information on the Leviathans.”

“Great.  But to get to this, we’ve gotta open another door to Purgatory,” Dean says.  “Who knows what’s gonna come crawling out this time?”

“Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than the Leviathans are, can it?” Sam reasons.

“Yeah, but I think our hands are already pretty damn full.  We don’t need any more monsters running loose all over the place.”

I allow them to continue bickering and focus instead on Gabriel.  He’s silent, lost in thought.  And he looks conflicted.  So he _does_ know more about the Spider than he’d been willing to share.  It irritates me that he is keeping such important information from me, but I can’t exactly challenge him and come out on top, not unless I catch him off-guard.  Or if I get Michael on my side.  I don’t know how likely it is that Michael will side with me over Gabriel, though.

“Hey—Cas, are you listening?” Dean asks.  He’s coming toward me, and I quickly take two steps back to restore some distance between us.  The draw toward him is already difficult to resist, and the yearning in his eyes isn’t doing anything good for my will power.

“No,” I respond truthfully.  Before he can speak, I inform them, “I will have to leave approximately twenty minutes from now to observe a luncheon at the White House.”

Sam and Dean both look surprised.

“Um… why?” Sam asks.

“Crowley asked me to watch over a demon.  The Leviathans have infiltrated the United States Senate, and Crowley has planted two demons in order to keep an eye on them.  I will be there to make sure the demon is safe.”

Gabriel laughs and shakes his head.  “Never thought I’d see the day when an angel would go out of his way to protect a demon.”

I turn what should be an unreadable expression on my brother.  “And I didn’t think that an angel would lie to protect a creature of Purgatory,” I respond pointedly.

It’s silent for a moment.

“Uh, Cas, what are you talking about?” Dean asks, looking between Gabriel and me.  I don’t respond—my brother and I are in the middle of a staring contest, and I will not back down.

“I think it’s pretty clear,” Sam says in a hushed voice, as though he’s afraid of interrupting us.  “Gabriel’s gotta know something about the Spider, but he’s not telling Cas.”

Dean frowns.  “Gabe, I knew you were a dick, but I thought you were on our side.  If you want our trust, don’t you think it’d be… I don’t know, smart, to tell us what we need to know if it’s important?”

Gabriel looks away from me to glare at Dean.  “ _If it’s important_ ,” he says.  “I do know the Spider, but I doubt she’ll be able to help you.  And even if she could, it doesn’t mean she would, and I know for a fact that she won’t want to.  She doesn’t interfere.”

“That makes it sound like you know her pretty well,” Sam observes.

“Yeah, so you must know how to find her,” Dean adds.

Gabriel shakes his head.  “I don’t.  I really don’t.  I told Cas this already.”

“And I think you were—and still are—lying,” I say.

Gabriel’s eyes rest on me for a moment and then flick to Sam and Dean.  “Gosh.  I’ve been on my best behavior all week, and you guys _still_ don’t think I’m worth trusting, eh?”

“Nope,” Dean says.

“All right, _fine_.  I don’t know how to get to her on my own, because I need someone’s help to get through.  The straight way to go about doing it is too hard—it’s not as though lunar eclipses happen every other Tuesday.  But there’s a way to get around that.”

“And that way is?” Sam prods, arms folded across his chest as he looks at Gabriel expectantly.

“Kali,” Gabriel says after a moment.  “Kali got me through to her, after she settled down in Purgatory.”

The brothers look surprised, and I can tell from the glance that they exchange that they’ve met Kali before.  I have not met her, but I know that she is a pagan goddess—the Goddess of Destruction, specifically—and that’s enough.

“How?” Dean asks.

“The pagans have hugely varying opinions on how the world started,” I say.  “Have you ever wondered why that is?”

“It crossed my mind, yes, but I guess I never really thought about it,” Sam replies.  “Bit too preoccupied with the _end_ of the world to worry about how it started.”

“Bet it didn’t even occur to Dean,” Gabriel says with a smirk.

“Hey, why don’t you shut up?” Dean replies.

Gabriel opens his mouth to spout something that will probably set Dean off, and I give him a warning glare.  He rolls his eyes and says, “Mother hen, Castiel.  Mother hen.”

I ignore him and look at Sam and Dean.  But Dean proves to be too distracting, so I focus my gaze on Sam.  “The pagans are older than we are—older than all of the angels except the four original archangels, I mean.  That is why they like to claim that they arrived in our world before God did.”

“So… they were created sometime after the Leviathans?” Sam asks.

“Yes,” I respond.  “But they were not created by God.  Before Heaven was created, before the Old World was locked away into what we now know as Purgatory, God created Eve.”

“Eve, the one that we killed with the phoenix ash,” Dean says.

I nod, and Gabriel looks at me with a frown.

“Eve’s dead?” he asks.

“I thought Michael informed you of everything that happened since your death,” I say.

Gabriel shrugs.  “I guess he left it out.  Wow, I really have sorely underestimated you two.  I can’t believe you actually _killed_ Purgatory’s Mother of All.  That’s a pretty big deal.”

Continuing with the story, I say, “Eve created the pagans in Purgatory, each with their own domains.  That is why they disagree about how the world began—each had his own world.”

Sam looks fascinated.  “Wow.  So that’s—”

“Not now, geek,” Dean interrupts.  “You can play ‘grill the angel’ after story time.”

Sam sighs and rolls his eyes but gestures for me to go on.

“They crossed over into our world, just as the alphas of the other monsters—vampires, shapeshifters, rugarus, and the like—did.  Naturally, they remember the way back,” I say.

Dean frowns at this.  “Then why didn’t we hear about you and Crowley rounding up pagan gods last year?  Why was it only alphas?”

Gabriel chuckles.  “Bonehead, don’t you remember our happy get-together at the Elysian Fields motel, where I died?  Lucifer killed pretty much all the pagans.  I bet Castiel here thought they were all gone.  Kali’s impossible to find unless she wants to be found.  Or unless you know where to look.”

“And I’m guessing you know exactly where to look,” Sam says.

Gabriel just grins, but that’s really all the response we need.

“Find her, then,” I snap, more than slightly annoyed that he decided to give up the information to Sam and Dean when he refused to give it to me.  I know that the sentiment is petty, but it is there nonetheless.

“It’ll take a bit of time,” Gabriel says.  “And I might be MIA for a while.”

“M-I-A?” I ask.

“Missing in action,” Sam explains.

“Go, then,” Dean says.  “The sooner we find out how to _really_ kill these suckers, the better.  Cas can’t disintegrate every head we chop off.”

Gabriel sighs.  “I’ll go, then.  But if I get you to the Spider, then you’ve gotta let me in your… your circle of trust.  Because I’m not gonna stick around if you keep treating me like I’m gonna jump ship at any moment.”

Sam opens his mouth as if to reply, but Gabriel’s already gone.

“That son of a bitch,” Dean mutters.  He glances up at me.  “Let me guess: there’s no telling when he’ll be back.”

I consider it for a moment.  “I do not know how he will contact Kali, but locating pagan gods that wish not to be found is difficult, even when one has the key.  He could be preoccupied for some time.  In the meantime, we will do what we can on Earth.  Have your hunter contacts met with any politicians?”

“There really aren’t that many people who know what’s out there,” Sam says.  “At least, in comparison to people who have no clue.  We’ve been calling, but no one knows anyone high up enough to make much of a difference.  Crowley’s demons will probably be more effective in Congress than anyone the hunters will be able to reach.”

“Yeah, it’s a bitch.  But it’s not as though we can just force them to believe us.  Unless you want to angel-brainwash them,” Dean says, glancing in my direction.

“No,” I say.  “The Leviathans will be able to sense my influence.  If so, then they will simply replace enough members of Congress with their own.  As it is, I believe that they’ve only replaced two senators because they think—and they would be quite right—that humans will only need a light push in the right direction, and they’ll vote for nuclear war.”

“Well, it was worth a shot,” Dean says.

“Wait,” Sam says, eyes lighting up.  “Cas, you can relocate supernatural creatures just as well as humans, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then… I have an idea.  We can observe the senators to try and single out the ones who would respond most positively upon exposure to supernatural creatures, and then you could actually do the exposing.  And a bit of smiting, to make sure people don’t get killed,” Sam says.

“How would you accurately determine how these humans would react to—”

“Experience.  Dean and I have been hunting for years, and we’ve had to deal with survivors.  We _know_ people.  And there are tons of other hunters out there who have that same kind of experience, and they’ll be able to help us tail all those senators, learn their personalities.  This is a plan that they can probably get on board with,” Sam reasons.

“Except that we’ll have to convince them to put their faith in Cas,” Dean says.  “I doubt most of them have ever seen angels before, and even if they have, it’s more likely that the angels they met were dicks.  I don’t think they’d go for putting human lives in danger with only Cas as a safety net.”

Sam frowns.  “Um… yeah, that might be a bit hard.”

“I can demonstrate my capabilities—” I begin to offer.

“No, that’s not the problem,” Dean interrupts.  “The problem is, people who know that angels exist probably also know that angels generally don’t give a crap about what happens to humans.  You’re an angel, so they’ll automatically assume that you won’t care about humans.”

“But I—”

“They don’t know you like I do,” Dean says.  My eyes flit to his, and then I note that Sam’s trying hard to fight a smile.  Dean hurriedly says, “I meant ‘we.’  Not I.”

“Yeah.  Sure you did,” Sam says, and now his lips are stretched into a wide grin.

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Fine, jerk.  I was about to give you some alone time with—”

“That would be unwise,” I interrupt.  The mere fact that there’s one less person in the room than before has already intensified the draw that Dean’s soul has on my Grace, and if Sam chooses to leave the room now, it’ll be best for me to leave as well, in order to avoid… well, to avoid inadvertently killing Dean.

After a slight pause, Sam says, “Yeah, I know.  I was just joking.”

Dean clears his throat and changes the subject.  “So, this meeting you’re going to.  You said there are gonna be Leviathans there masquerading as senators?”

“Just one Leviathan.  I believe it is a relatively small gathering,” I reply.

“But won’t it be able to sense that you’re there, if it can sense your influence on people?” Dean asks.

Waves of concern emanate from him, and I smile.  “That’s possible.”

“Then why are you smiling?  Shouldn’t you be worried?”

“It is highly unlikely that the Leviathan would act out, even if it detected my presence.  I’ll be safe.  They already know that I am working against them, so it should not come to them as a complete surprise that I am there,” I say.  “Now, about this plan to convince your fellow hunters—”

“Yeah,” Sam says.  “We can start calling them now.  I’ll fill Bobby in on everything.”

“It’ll probably be a good idea to just head out to his new place, actually.  Everyone knows Bobby, and tons of them are headed there anyway.  It’s perfect for meeting up,” Dean suggests.

The day after I left Dean, I reconstructed Bobby’s salvage yard, almost exactly as it was.  But I placed it in Williamstown, Kansas, so as not to attract too much attention—I’m sure the locals in Sioux Falls would have had questions if Singer Salvage Yard suddenly reappeared, whole and as dilapidated as before, right where it had previously stood.

Apparently, since he last parted from the Winchesters, Bobby had been traveling around the country, meeting his contacts in person to prove that he was indeed alive, and not a demon, shapeshifter, or other impostor.  Upon being informed of his new base, Bobby arrived and gruffly declared it “livable.”  I saw his silent gratitude, and that was enough.

In the five days since, other hunters have stopped in to see him, instead of having it the other way around.  Already Bobby has reconnected with most of his contacts, and he’s well on his way to finishing up with the last few stragglers.  It still amazes me how much this old man can accomplish.

Sam nods.  “Yeah, having Bobby’s definitely gonna help out a lot… although I guess his credibility’s gonna take a hit ‘cause he just came back from the dead.  People might also say that he’s biased toward Cas because Cas was the one who raised him.”

“But we could use that as an argument in our favor.  Cas raised Bobby, so he does care about humans,” Dean says.

“No, that’s not good enough.  Cas had orders to pull you out of Hell just so that Heaven could use you.  They didn’t care about—”

“Well, the other hunters don’t know all that.  All they know is that angels dragged me out of Hell.  We could spin that one too.”

“But that’s another weakness, because now both you _and_ Bobby are biased.”

I sigh.  “This does not look promising.”

“It’s fine, Cas.  We’ll get our shit together,” Sam says.  “It’s gonna work out.”

“I wish I had your level of optimism,” I say.  “Now, I should go.”

“Has it already been twenty minutes?” Dean asks, and I can tell that he doesn’t want me to leave.

“Not yet, but I would prefer to arrive early so that I can integrate myself into the surroundings as much as possible.  If I can mask myself successfully and remain completely still, the Leviathan might not notice me at all,” I respond.

“Oh,” Dean says.

A wave of his disappointment washes over me, and I have to focus hard on _not_ reaching out for him, keeping my hands and wings still.

“Good luck, then,” Sam says.

“Thank you, Sam.”

“And come back soon, since Dean’s too wimpy to ask you himself.”

Dean doesn’t even attempt to retaliate verbally this time, resorting instead to cuffing his brother in the back of his head.

“Ow!”

I smile, and after bidding the brothers farewell, I head for the White House.


	20. Where the Grass Is Green and the Girls Are Pretty

_Dean’s raking leaves.  I haven’t seen him so relaxed in quite some time—it’s been two weeks since I last saw him, two weeks since I raised Sam._

_I need help.  There is no way that I could win against Raphael, not in a straight fight.  He is still an archangel, and I… I am still nothing.  He could crush me just as easily as he did last time, and then the Apocalypse would begin yet again.  I cannot die, because the angels who follow me still do not understand the concept of free will.  They would take my death as a sign that God disapproves of my beliefs, and then they would fall back behind Raphael._

_I cannot allow the world to end, not after all that Sam and Dean sacrificed._

_But I cannot ask Dean for even more.  He’s given far more than enough, lost far more than is fair.  I can’t bear the thought of forcing him to give up the chance at a normal life he’s worked so hard to find.  I can’t force him to break his promise to Sam._

_“Ah, Castiel.  Angel of Thursday,” a familiar voice says, and I turn around to see Crowley standing just a few yards away from me.  “Just not your day, is it?”_

_“What are you doing here?”_

_“I want to help you help me, help ourselves.”_

_“Speak plain.”_

_“I want to discuss a simple business transaction.  That’s all.”_

_“You want to make a deal?  With me?  I’m an angel, you ass.  I don’t have a soul to sell.”_

_“But that’s it, isn’t it?  It’s all of it.  It’s the souls.  It all comes down to the souls in the end, doesn’t it?”_

_“What in the hell are you talking about?”_

_“I’m talking about Raphael’s head on a pike.  I’m talking about happy endings for all of us, with all possible entendres intended.  Come on.  Just a chat,” he says, starting to turn away._

_“I have no interest in talking with you.”_

_“Why not?  I’m very interesting.  Come on.  Hear me out.  Five minutes.  No obligations.  I promise.”_

_I glance back over my shoulder at Dean and wonder what he would say about listening to Crowley for a few minutes._

_“I’ll make it worth your while,” Crowley adds, half-turning in preparation to leave._

_I wish I could speak with Dean, ask what he thinks of this.  After all, he was the one who taught me about making choices.  It makes sense to ask him what he thinks of my choice.  But he is retired, and he is to stay that way.  If I talk to him about this, there is no way that he will stay uninvolved.  It is against his nature to let other people suffer when there is something he can do about it._

_As Dean bags the leaves that he’d been raking, I turn toward Crowley and follow him away.  I am still an angel, and he is still a demon.  I can still smite him.  And perhaps, against all odds, Crowley will actually have a solution to my problem…_

* * *

I wait impatiently for the final senator to leave before taking flight.

Crowley didn’t show.  At the forty minute mark, I thought that perhaps he had been delayed.  But he still has not arrived, and I am worried.  He claimed that he would make sure I’d be able to find him, but as I reach out for him, I find nothing.

Could something be wrong with me?

I land on the south bank of one stretch of the Amazon River and close my eyes to concentrate.  I expand my awareness as far as it can go and try to hone in on the demon, but I find nothing.  No, this can’t be right.  If Crowley intended for me to be able to find him, then something has definitely gone wrong in his plans.

My immediate concern is for the welfare of Sam and Dean—their lives mean more to me than almost anything else.  So I center my focus and locate Dean in a car, en route to Bobby’s new home in Kansas.

“Hello, Dean,” I say.

The car swerves wildly, and both brothers curse loudly.

“ _Jesus!_ ” Dean barks.  “Don’t do that, okay?”

“You’d think that you’d be used to it by now,” Sam says.

“You were surprised, too,” Dean points out.

“Yeah, but I’m not the one freaking out.”

“You’re not the one with the freaky angel-bond thing going on.”

“If you’d both shut up, I’d like to speak now,” I say before Sam can retort.

“Right—sorry, Cas.  What’s up?” Sam asks.

“Have either of you seen Crowley?”

“Um, no.  I assumed he was with you,” Dean says.

“He isn’t.”

“Yeah, we got that.  So, what?  Did something go wrong?  Give us something to work with, Cas.”

I frown.  As grateful as I am that Sam and Dean are well, there must be something wrong.  Crowley could be dead—that would be unfortunate.

“Cas?” Sam says, twisting in his seat so that he can see me.

I look up at him and address Balthazar instead.  “Stay with them,” I say.  “Something isn’t right, and I feel that it isn’t the Leviathans.  Don’t leave them alone under any circumstances.”

“Cas, what the hell—” Dean begins to say, but I’ve already looked into Sam’s mind and found Balthazar’s acknowledgement of my request.

Satisfied that the boys won’t be left vulnerable, I take off again.  There’s a slim chance that I just wasn’t looking hard enough.  I put all of my focus on picking up traces of Crowley anywhere on Earth—it should be difficult for me to miss the king of Hell, especially if he intends to be found by me—before descending into Hell, but I do not sense his presence there, either.

Crowley, where are you?

* * *

_I walk through a now-barren realm of Heaven, looking around.  The only remains are numerous scorched outlines of wings, the wings of my brothers and sisters.  Some of them were put here by my own hands._

_I look down at said hands and clench them into fists, allowing power to flow to the surface.  I am using the power of fifty thousand souls, yet Raphael’s might is still greater than mine.  Archangels truly are Heaven’s most powerful weapons._

_I wish that I could share some of my power to make those brothers who have joined me stronger than those who elected to stay with Raphael, but they would question the origin of these souls.  And while I am willing to use Crowley as a means to an end, my friends, my brothers, are unlikely to see it that way.  So all I can do is covertly cocoon each of my warriors with extra defenses and let them take it as a sign from God that they are protected._

_Suddenly, there’s movement near the ground, and I tense up, expecting an ambush._

_But no—the figure who sits up is the human soul to whom this realm belongs.  She looks around with scared eyes, and I study her._

_Harriet Saltzman, daughter of a hunting father who died only months after she was born and an overprotective mother who tried everything in her power to keep Harriet under locks.  This girl died young, attempting revenge on the vampire who’d killed her father._

_I slowly move to her side and kneel down, and when she turns her face toward me, there are tears in her eyes._

_“How can this be paradise?” she asks me._

_I touch her cheek and wipe away a tear that has slipped from her eye.  “I apologize, Harriet.  You were not meant to see all of this.”  I clear away all the remnants of our latest battle, but the sadness in Harriet’s eyes remains.  “Would you like me to take away the memory?” I ask gently._

_She shakes her head.  “No, because then I would forget your kindness, as well.  The other angels I’ve met… they were all so cold.”_

_“As you wish,” I say._

_Her eyes follow me as I regain my feet, and she repeats her query.  “How can this be paradise?”_

_I wave my hand, and all that had once been her paradise returns into being.  “It just is,” I tell her.  “This is your paradise.  Rest now, Harriet.”_

_But as I turn to leave, she grabs my hand, and I turn back slightly to look at her._

_“But what about your paradise?” she asks._

_I pull her to her feet and look her in the eyes as I say, “Angels have no paradise.  Now, I must go.”_

_Before she can hold me back with another question, I fly away.  Before all of this, I would have offered up a prayer for her soul, but if God is still alive, He certainly isn’t listening anymore.  There is no point._

_I do not think I have ever resented Him more than I do now, for the home He created for us is not even truly_ our _home.  It serves as paradise for the favored humans, reward for their lives well lived.  But what of us?  What of the angels who serve Him ceaselessly?_

_I shake away these useless thoughts and bring my focus back to the present—I must find Rachel and devise a strategy before Raphael strikes again.  We have some time, because the weapons of Heaven have gone missing, and Raphael is taking out his anger on Virgil, the weapons master of Heaven._

_As soon as I land beside my deputy, she begins to list casualties, first from our side, and then from theirs.  I cannot afford to look or feel tired, not if I want to retain command and sustain morale—most of the surviving angels are here, with us, watching.  Waiting for orders, for our next move.  The words that I spoke to Harriet rise again in my mind, unbidden, and I hold back a sigh._

_Angels have no paradise._

* * *

The next morning, I’m perched near the top of the Burj Khalifa in Dubai, all senses shut down save for my hearing.  I’m listening intently for Crowley’s voice when I suddenly hear my name, spoken in prayer by an unfamiliar voice.

A _demon’s_ voice.

_Castiel!_ she calls out again, and I take flight in her direction.

I land in an alley, behind a demon in the body of a young woman.  She stiffens slightly upon my arrival.  “Come out,” she says, and I can tell she’s trying to keep the shaking out of her voice.  “I know you’re here,” she says in a sing-song voice that does much better to mask her trepidation.

“I’m here,” I say, uncloaking myself.

She spins around, and I study her true face.  This is a young demon, perhaps even prematurely pulled from the torture chambers.

“Oh, _hello_ ,” she says, leering.  I note that she has a bit of an accent.  “You are a _lot_ prettier than I thought you’d be.  Words don’t really do you justice, do they, angel?  If I could pluck out those gorgeous baby blues and sell ‘em, I bet they’d be worth a _fortune_.”

“You don’t work for Crowley,” I say—she seems so _fresh_.  Crowley doesn’t use younger demons because they’re too reckless.  They’re the ones who typically fall prey to hunters like the Winchesters.

“No,” she says with a smile, but she doesn’t offer any more information.

“I am at a disadvantage,” I finally say.  “Who are you?”  It is possible for me to identify her, but demons’ souls have been twisted so that they’re misshapen, and it is easy to misidentify them.  Besides, most of them adopt new names, leaving their human pasts behind.

She steps toward me, and it seems that now that I am visible, she’s less afraid.  Her hand lifts up as though to press to my chest, and I back up a step.  Her hand remains raised but does not follow my motion, and she smiles.

“Bela Talbot, at your service,” she says.

As these words leave her mouth, I hear another prayer, this time from Sam.

_Hey, Cas.  Um, Dean… we might have lost him.  Please,_ please _tell me you know where he is._

I turn a glare on Bela, and she smiles knowingly, confirming my suspicion.  “What have you done to him?” I demand.

“Just a bit of warding magic,” Bela says.  “I promise, he’s perfectly safe.  When I left him, he was still shouting his lungs out at me.”

I surge forward with one powerful flap of my wings and wrap one hand around her neck, pinning her easily to a wall.

She struggles helplessly against my grip before giving up.  “If you kill me, you’ll never find him,” she says.

“What do you want?” I demand through gritted teeth, and even as I ask this, I think of Balthazar.  Oh, Balthazar.  How could he let Dean out of his sight?  If anything happens to him…

“My master wants to speak with you, but she knew you wouldn’t talk to her without the right leverage.  We took Crowley yesterday, but she said he wouldn’t be enough incentive, so she sent me to pick up an old friend.”

“You knew Dean?”

She smiles.  “Not in the biblical sense, but yes, I did know Dean, before I was dragged into the pit.”

I wonder if Dean knows who she is, if he was able to recognize her.  I’m sure that she would have looked different as a human, as I can tell that she’s possessing someone else right now.

“So, will you speak to my master?” she asks, and her voice wavers slightly.

“Yes, but only if you return Dean to me immediately.”

“I can’t, I’m sorry.  Not until you’ve already spoken to her.”

“I promise I will speak to your master.  Now tell me where he is, or I will make the racks of Hell look like a pleasant vacation,” I snarl.

She swallows nervously, the motion made difficult by the hand that I still have pressed against her throat.  “F-fine,” she says.  “You’ll be able to find my—”

“I _know_ where to find Meg,” I interrupt impatiently, and her eyes widen slightly as though she’s surprised that I already know who she’s working for.  “Now _where_ is Dean?”

“I’ll take him back to where I found him,” she says.

“To Bobby Singer’s,” I counter.  “I don’t care where you found him.  Take him to Bobby’s.  If you hurt any one of my friends, I will find you, and I will kill you.  Warding magic may be strong, but it _can_ be overcome.  Do you understand me?”

She nods once.  Then she frowns.  “How am I to know which humans are your friends?”

“You won’t,” I say.  “So I suggest that you tread lightly, Bela Talbot.”

With that, I fly away.

After quickly informing Balthazar that a demon by the name of Bela Talbot will be bringing Dean back and that he faces another blade to the heart if Dean is hurt, I descend yet again into Hell.  This time, when the cold hits me, I barely flinch.  I hate that I’ve become so accustomed to the environment of Hell—I have spent far too much time here for any pure celestial being.

Then again, I’m hardly a pure angel anymore.  It doesn’t matter the state of purity to which I’ve been restored—it’s true that a tainted angel cannot return pure, but I still _feel_ tainted.  And yet again, I ponder those words.  _Little One, You Are Different…_

Meg is waiting for me exactly where I expected her to be—by the cage.

“Hello, Cas,” she says.  “It’s been such a _long_ time, hasn’t it?”

“Not really,” I respond.  “Why did you want to see me?”

She smiles.  “Why _wouldn’t_ I want to see you, dear?”  When it becomes clear that I won’t respond, her smile fades, and she says, “Fine, we’ll get straight to business.  I want the target off my back.”

“Target?  I haven’t—”

“Crowley,” she interrupts.  “His dogs have been hunting me ever since you torched those fake bones of his.  I thought they were out for revenge and would give up, as usual, but they just kept coming.  And then I found out that he was still alive.  Imagine my surprise.”

“And what do you expect me to do?  We in Heaven do not interfere with the quarrels of Hell.”

“Yes, because _your_ people _never_ get into arguments or, I don’t know, start _civil wars_ …”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to talk Crowley out of hunting me down.”

“You can do that yourself.  In fact, you could kill him.  He’s not much of a fighter, compared to you.”  She says nothing, so I must be on the right track.  “What is it that you _really_ want, then?” I ask.

She looks away.  “I want to switch sides.”

I blink once.  Twice.  “Why?”

“Because I’m tired of being the only one still fighting.  You had to fight on the losing side before, so you know how it feels.  Now imagine being the _only_ one left.”

“I still would not be giving in.  I would die.”

“Yes, well, that’s why you’re an angel, and I’m a demon.  Look, I can fight.  I’m smart.  You’re up against some of the nastiest bitches ever, and I _know_ a nasty bitch when I see one.  You need all the help you can get.”

I look over at the cage and only see Adam’s broken body, preserved by the cold.  “And your father?  Lucifer?”

She looks at the cage spitefully.  “He doesn’t speak anymore.  But I _know_ he’s in there!” she shouts in its direction.

No response.

“Is this an act of rebellion due to your…” I remember a phrase that I’ve heard Dean use before “…daddy issues?”

She sighs and turns back to face me.  “Call it whatever you want.  Just… can I…” her voice trails off.

But I’m not letting her get away with that.  “Can you what?” I ask.

She looks angry, but she says, “Can I join you?  We can go back to killing each other after the Leviathans are gone.”

“Reveal Crowley first.”

Meg rolls her eyes and chants an unmasking charm in old Enochian.

“How do you know that?” I ask.

“My father spent some time teaching us to defend ourselves, you know.  At least, the ones who stood a chance.”

“So you mean, only you,” Crowley says, and I see him, bound in place by a Devil’s trap.

Meg ignores him and steps closer to me.  “What do you say, Cas, hmm?”

“Don’t listen to her, Cas.  She’s lying.  I never sent Hellhounds—”

“Don’t call me a liar, Crowley,” Meg says, anger flashing through her eyes.  “As though you’re so much better yourself.”

“I do have one question,” I say.  “Where are the hounds now, if they’re always after you?”

“It’s too cold for them here, so near the cage,” Meg responds.

Crowley doesn’t disagree; instead, he says, “Why are we wasting time here?  Get smiting, and then get me out of here.”

Meg’s eyes flick to mine, and I detect a hint of wariness in them.  “Castiel…” she sighs.  “Please.”

I hold out a hand in Crowley’s direction and break the trap that holds him.  He steps out of it, looking smug.

“Very well,” I say to Meg, and the expression on Crowley’s face instantly turns sour.  Meg, on the other hand, looks surprised.  Pleased, but surprised.

“Cas, _what_ —” Crowley begins, but I silence him with a look.

“Meg,” I say, “there are conditions.  I honestly don’t care about the power struggles of Hell, but I will not have them interfering with my goal.  I do not feel comfortable trusting you, and we are not so desperate for help as to place trust in you simply because you’re offering.”

“So… what?  Do you want me to _earn your trust?_ ” she says mockingly.

“Precisely.”  At the incredulous look on her face, I add, “It is not an unreasonable request.  Until we decide we can trust you, you will defer to me, to the Winchesters, and to—”

“Not Crowley.”

“Yes, Crowley,” I contradict.  She looks at me mutinously, and I shake my head.  “What did you expect?  You are the one who is asking to join our side.  Did you think we would welcome you with open arms?”

“Fine,” Meg says through gritted teeth.  “But please tell me I don’t have to spend all my time with Crowley.”

I glance at Crowley and see that he doesn’t look excited at the prospect of spending more time with her, either.  “We will pay the Winchesters a visit,” I decide.  “If they turn you away, you will remain with Crowley.”

Meg looks at me suspiciously.  “You would let me travel with your precious Winchester brothers?”

“My friend is watching over them.  I would advise you to be careful.”

She rolls her eyes.  “Of course.  But… if there was an angel with them, how did Bela—”

“Yes, that is a question that I would like answered as well,” I say.  Then I turn to Crowley.  “The meeting—”

He shakes his head.  “Mine didn’t go well.  You’d think that as long as the Leviathans spent locked up in Purgatory, their brains would have rotted away by now.  But they seem to have caught on to the inner workings of modern human politics alarmingly quickly.”

I nod.  “Not much was discussed at the luncheon.”

“Ah, I expected as much,” Crowley says.  “If they were both too aggressive about it…” he shakes his head.  “I just don’t like that they’ve got such a comfortable position.”

Meg speaks up.  “Mind telling me what you two are talking about?”

“Yes,” Crowley says.  He looks at me.  “Do I have to go with you two?” he asks.

I consider it for a moment before nodding.  “Yes, come along.”

I turn and lead the way out of the icy cold.  At the end of the tunnel, I see no Hellhounds.  But Meg doesn’t step out, looking at Crowley pointedly.

“Oh, all right,” he finally says, snapping his fingers once.

We leave Hell without further incident, and I center my focus on Dean.  If he is not safe and sound at Bobby’s, that Bela Talbot is as good as dead.


	21. The Stars, They Shine for You

_Duck.  Swing.  Leap.  Grasp opponent’s forearm.  Disarm._

Cas!

_My brother throws me back a few feet but I land easily and spring back into combat._

Cas, why aren’t you answering, you dick?

_Brandish sword.  Brother approaches—wait for it…_

_Another blade swings at me from behind and I duck just in time to avoid being stabbed in the neck.  Jab my blade into my first opponent’s knee—simultaneously kick one foot back, knocking the second attacker off his feet._

Cas, it’s Sam!  Now get down here!  I need your help.

_As my wounded brother pulls my blade out of his knee, gasping in pain, I spin and shove the blade that I stole from him into the second’s chest.  He dies with a flash of light, and I turn back around, blade ready.  My brother drops my blade, wincing as his Grace pours steadily out of the knee of his vessel._

_“Have mercy, brother,” he gasps.  “Kill me quickly.”_

_“Follow me,” I respond, rapidly searching for his name.  “Ariel,” I realize.  “Follow me.”_

_He shakes his head.  “Kill me,” he insists._

_I drop his blade without breaking eye contact, and he just looks at me, not understanding.  Why won’t any of them understand?  Why won’t they listen?  Why can’t they just think?_

_There’s a squelching sound, and my brother gasps, eyes widening.  Another flash of light, and he’s gone._

_“Rachel,” I say._

_“Castiel,” she replies.  “You can’t convert everyone.  You know that, don’t you?  They have already chosen, so they must die.”_

_No, even Rachel does not understand.  “They deserve second chances,” I say. “I want to give them second chances, whenever it is in my power to do so.  Making a mistake, having a lapse in judgment, does not mean they deserve to die.”_

_Rachel sighs.  “Castiel, this is war.”_

_“I_ know _,” I snap, glancing over at Lisa’s house.  At this time of day, no one is home—Ben is attending school, and both Dean and Lisa are at work._

_“Then you know that we cannot afford to let them slip away.  If they chose Raphael to begin with, who is to say that they will not choose him again, given the chance?”_

_“Enough,” I say.  “I will clean this up.  Go up and find out why Eremiel was not here.  We cannot allow Raphael to get his hands on the key to the cage.”_

_“It would be safer if we just took the key.”_

_“Dean would notice.”_

_“Then kill him and take him back to Heaven, too.”  I stiffen, but she continues speaking as though she hasn’t noticed.  “We’ll be able to keep watch over him at all times without having to station angels on Earth.  Our numbers are stretched thin as it is.”_

_“No.”_

_“But Castiel—”_

_“_ No _.  Dean is not to die an unnatural death again, ever.”_

_“We could make an accident—”_

_“I fail to see how the meaning of the word ‘no’ escapes you, Rachel.  Do not bring this up again.”_

_“Castiel—”_

_“Go.”_

_“We are fighting a_ war _.  Why are we making allowances for an insignificant—”_

_“That_ insignificant _human being is the reason why I stood up to Raphael in the first place,” I say.  “He and his brother prevented the end of the world as we know it. Do not ever question the values of their lives.  And if you still consider me your brother, you will not speak ill of either one of them again.”_

_She looks at me angrily.  “Fine.  I’ll search for Eremiel now.”_

_She takes off, and I pause a moment to listen as she gets farther away.  Then I clean up the aftermath of the fight, collecting the dropped blades and disintegrating the human bodies—the souls of these vessels have already departed._

_The scorch marks left by my brothers’ wings are more difficult to erase, and as I work to remove all traces of them from Lisa’s lawn, one of the neighbors steps outside to throw out some trash.  I flare my wings, hiding myself and the marks on the ground behind an illusion of her typically immaculate lawn._

_As the neighbor reenters his house, whistling, it occurs to me that this is the lawn the Dean mows, once every other week.  I shudder at the thought of angels attacking him while he’s out here, exposed.  I cannot imagine what would happen if he were to fall into Raphael’s hands.  No amount of bargaining would get him back, for Dean is still Michael’s true vessel, and Raphael will need him in order to resume the Apocalypse._

_I complete my task and rise to Heaven, planning to investigate the reason why Eremiel was missing._

_Then I pause to consider Sam’s safety.  But he’s currently traveling with Samuel Campbell, and Crowley has planted some demons in the Campbell line in order to ensure his safety.  I’m fairly certain that Raphael wouldn’t go after Sam simply because he believes that if Sam said yes once, he would do it again.  But leaving him without protection is still out of the question._

_Thinking of Sam reminds me that he’d been calling me earlier.  I will ask Crowley how he is the next time I fly down to meet him—we agreed that it’d be best if I stayed away, as I am not skilled at lying, and Crowley insisted that it would be easier if Sam and Dean were unaware of our plan to open Purgatory.  The less people who know, the better._

_Crowley has been conducting interrogations of creatures in private so that word will not reach Raphael.  If my brother gains the power of the souls in Purgatory, then there is not one creature in the world that will be able to stop him, an archangel boosted by so much power._

_The sheer number of souls would be enough to challenge anyone’s sanity, I’m sure.  I’ve already seen firsthand the pleasure that Raphael derives from killing others.  There’s no telling what he would do with that kind of power…_

* * *

The door swings open, and Sam frowns.  “Cas is here!” he calls over his shoulder.  “With uh… Crowley, and Meg!”

“Hello, Sammy!” Meg says brightly, and Sam just turns around, disappearing into the house.

Crowley and Meg enter, and I follow, shutting the door behind me.

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean says.

I’m relieved to see that he is perfectly healthy.  And my Grace feels comforted by his presence.  I wonder if my presence has a similar effect on his soul.

“Meg wishes to assist us,” I say in reply to his query.

“Why?  And why would you believe her, Cas?” Sam asks.

“Have I really been _that_ terrible to you two?” Meg says.

“It’s your fault Jo and Ellen are dead,” Sam says.

Meg rolls her eyes, and I contemplate smiting her for her lack of respect for the dead.  “Oh, boo hoo.  Lots more are going to be dead if we don’t stop the Leviathans, and you could use my help.”

“Where is Bobby?” I ask.  Closing my eyes, I sense that he’s—

“In the basement,” Dean says.  “Why don’t we all drop in and say hi?”

He and Sam lead the way to the stairs, and a moment later, we’re in the basement.  Bela Talbot is in a Devil’s trap.  Bobby has turned to watch the group of us warily.

“What’re all o’ you doin’ here?”

“Bela?” Meg says with a disapproving frown before the rest of us can speak.

“I’m sorry, Meg.  I—”

“Shut up, you imbecile.  How could you get caught by _these_ oafs?”

“I told you not to use new meat,” Crowley says with a smirk.  “All talk and no experience.  More trouble than they’re worth, really.”

“Well, she’s killed enough of your pathetic followers,” Meg shoots back.

“All right, can it,” Dean says.  “I say we can’t trust Meg.  Who’s to say she won’t screw us over, first chance she gets?”

Meg sighs.  “Dean, I’m looking at the bigger picture, here.  If I kill you now, it’ll be fun, I’m sure, but when the Leviathans are through with you humans, they’re gonna turn on the rest of us.  I’m selfish as can be, and I’m not gonna lie about it—I’m in to save my own ass.”

“Exactly,” Sam says.  “As soon as someone gives her a better offer of protection than we do, she’ll jump ship.”

“Yes, yes.  Now will you smite the bitch, Castiel?” Crowley asks.

Meg looks furious.  “I don’t understand.  If I remember correctly, the last time our little party got together, we—” she points between herself, Dean, Sam, and me “—were all going up against him—” now she points at Crowley “—because we wanted him dead.  Now why are you all ganging up on me, but not on him?”

“He’s been helping us against the Leviathans,” Sam says.  “You’ve been doing squat.”

“I’ve been a bit busy trying to get away from the Hellhounds Crowley set on me.”

“Sorry ‘bout that, love, had to be done,” Crowley says with a smirk.

“Cas, why did you bring them here?” Bobby asks.

“Meg and Crowley wish to stay apart, so I considered leaving Meg here under your supervision,” I respond, directing my words to Bobby as well as the Winchesters.  “But another reason I brought her here was so you could see her for yourself—I trust you are more capable of seeing through deception.”

Meg scowls.  “And here I thought you were putting some faith in me, Clarence.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Well, she ain’t stayin’ in my house,” Bobby says, shaking his head.

“I did not intend to force you,” I say before he can continue—he seems to have more than one argument prepared.  I turn to face Crowley and Meg, both of whom look unhappy.  “We will respect Bobby’s wishes—”

“Damn right,” the old hunter interjects.

“—so Meg, you will travel with Crowley, as his subordinate.”

“Just a minor issue with that, Cas,” Dean says, and we look in his direction.  “Meg was trained under Alastair.  She’ll be able to subdue Crowley if she really wants to.”

Crowley bristles at this.  “I _am_ still King of Hell, you insolent—”

“She captured you this time, didn’t she?” Sam points out.

“Won’t happen again,” Crowley says with nonchalance that even I can tell is feigned.

But Dean has raised a valid point.

“I can go with them,” Balthazar says, landing in the room behind the Devil’s trap that holds Bela Talbot.  He steps into sight and approaches us.

“Sam?” I ask, because his mental well-being takes priority over Crowley’s safety.

Sam glances at Balthazar and nods.  “I’m fine.”

I look over at my brother, and he also nods.

“Let’s go, then,” Crowley says.  “Time’s wastin’.”

“Are you done with Bela yet?” Meg asks as Crowley begins to climb the stairs out of the basement.  “I’d like to take her with me.”

“Not quite,” Dean says.  “Tell you what, we’ll send her your way, soon as we’re finished catching up.”

Meg frowns but doesn’t protest when Balthazar ushers her up the stairs.

_Don’t worry_ , he says to me, _I’ll keep an eye on her._

_Thank you, brother_ , I respond.  When they’ve gone, I turn to the others.  “While Balthazar is gone, I will stay here.”

“Why?” Sam asks.

“To guard you, of course.”

“You don’t have to—” Dean begins.

“I want to.  Besides, I have exhausted all of my leads—I do not know how to get into Purgatory.  My best hope is to wait for Gabriel to return.  Until he does so, I have little better to do than wait.  So I will stand guard over you.”

“Well, isn’t _that_ touching?” Bela says.

“Let’s go,” Dean says, jerking his head toward the stairs.

“I’ll finish up down here,” Bobby says, and the smug smile on the demon’s face falters.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea for you two to be under the same roof?” Sam asks when we’re back on the ground floor.

“I have grown accustomed to the cravings.  It will be all right,” I say.

“Dean?” Sam says.

Dean nods.  “Fine here.”

“I don’t know if I believe you, Dean,” Sam says doubtfully.

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean says, moving into the kitchen.

“It will be fine,” I say to reassure Sam.

“Sure.”

But I sense that Sam does not believe me.  “I would never hurt your brother if I could help it,” I add.

“What if you can’t help it?”

“I can,” I insist.  “I will be careful.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Yeah, all right.”

I wait a moment before changing the subject.  “How are the other hunters taking the news?”

“Uh, not great.  I mean, I guess it makes sense.  We’re hunters—it’s wired into us to not trust supernatural things.  Lots of hunters don’t even believe in angels.”

“I understand.  Well, Crowley is monitoring the political activity of the Leviathans, which should suffice for the time being.  Is there anything I can to do help with the hunters?”

Sam sighs.  “Short of mind-wiping them?  Not really.  And I don’t think messing with people’s heads is gonna win you points in anyone’s books.”

“That is reasonable,” I agree.

Bobby emerges from the basement alone.

“Bela?” Sam asks.

“I’m leavin’ her down there a little longer.  She keeps runnin’ that mouth o’ hers, and it’s makin’ me angry,” Bobby says.

“You’re always angry,” Sam points out, and his mentor scowls.

Dean reenters the room with a bottle of beer and nods once to acknowledge Bobby before addressing me.  “Hey Cas,” he says, “what was Bobby’s Heaven like?  He won’t tell us.”

I frown.  “Why not?”

“‘Cause it ain’t any o’ their goddamn business,” Bobby grumbles.

“Come on, Cas, share,” Dean says.

I open my mouth, and Bobby growls my name in a warning tone.  “You did not respect my secret, so I do not have to respect yours.  This will make us even,” I tell him.  “Bobby’s Heaven is his salvage yard, in a realm shared with the soul of his wife.  The memories that he relives the most contain the two of you.”

Bobby storms out of the room, and Sam and Dean follow after him, calling him a “softie” in what I suppose is an affectionate manner.  I close my eyes and allow their voices to become background noise, the sounds of peace.  For this is indeed a moment of peace—the calm before the storm, perhaps.

I wonder how long it will last.

* * *

_Silence._

_It is a rare moment of absolute silence.  No fights are being fought, no lives lost.  Right now, Heaven is silent._

_“Hello, Castiel,” Raphael says as he lands beside me.  “It is quiet, today.”_

_I don’t look at him.  “Yes.  Why are you here?”_

_“I just wanted to talk.”_

_“Unless you wish to tell me that you will not put us back on the path to the Apocalypse, I see nothing for us to discuss.”_

_He sighs.  “You need to learn obedience.”_

_“I know how to take orders, Raphael.”_

_“No, I don’t think you do.  I worked on you myself, or have you already forgotten?”_

_I turn to glare at him.  “Obedience is not something you can demand and receive.  It comes from faith.  Trust.  These are things you have to_ earn _.  I know how to be obedient.  I just refuse to be tortured into submission.”_

_The archangel laughs.  “Is this something you learned from your precious human?  The one you’re still trying to protect?”  I don’t respond, so he goes on, “You won’t be able to protect him forever.  One day, your guard will slip.  Maybe on that day, I’ll descend to Earth myself.  And you won’t be able to do anything to stop me.”_

_My wings flare out instinctively as I step closer to my brother.  “If you hurt him, I will kill you.  You may be an archangel, but you are not invincible.  Even God must die someday.  So even if it kills me, I_ will _find a way to destroy you.”_

_“Am I supposed to be afraid now, Castiel?  All you have in your favor are a few extra souls, annoying stubbornness, and a pretty face.  No, that face isn’t even yours—I can sense James Novak’s soul still in that body you’re using.”_

_“Do not underestimate the power of will,” I say, disregarding his words._

_Raphael smiles condescendingly.  “Very well, Castiel.  When the day comes that you can simply_ will _someone to death, be sure to let me know.  Believe me, I will be quivering with fear.”_

_Then Gadreel and Rachel land across from us, blades drawn._

_“Raphael,” Rachel says, “you should not be here.”_

_“Peace,” Raphael responds.  “We agreed that there would be no killing today.”_

_“Go,” I tell our brother.  “I will not surrender to you.  Nothing you say will change my mind.”_

Cas!

_It’s Bobby this time.  Bobby_ never _calls for me.  What could be severe enough that he’d ask for me?_

Cas, need a little help here!

_“Excuse me,” I say before taking off.  Raphael may be eager to take our lives, eager to win the war, but he is still an angel, and he will respect our agreement.  Rachel and Gadreel will be safe._

_Bobby is tied up in his chair at his desk, and three men are standing around the room.  Except… they’re not human.  Their souls are… different.  Twisted.  Dark.  I have difficulty identifying their species._

_One of them—tall, bald, dark-skinned—holds a phone to Bobby’s ear.  “Tell him to come back, now,” the not-man growls._

_“And tell him to bring that Campbell bastard with him.  If they’ve hurt our alpha, we’ll kill you,” a second one—scrawnier, with dark eyes that give away nothing—says.  “Not that I wouldn’t love chewing your heart out, but we sort of need our alpha back, and that’s slightly more important, at the moment.”_

_“I ain’t tellin’ him anything ‘til you tell me what’s goin’ on,” Bobby says.  In his head, I hear him cursing at me colorfully._

_The werewolf—few other creatures would be interested in “chewing out” a human heart—holding the phone snaps it shut and tosses it onto Bobby’s desk.  “I would’ve thought it’d be obvious to you, hunter,” he says.  “They’re capturing alphas.  They somehow got a hold of ours, and we don’t appreciate that.  Capiche?”_

_“If Samuel Campbell survived a meeting with your alpha, and your alpha’s gone missing, then he’s dead.  Ain’t no way he made it out,” Bobby says._

_“If he died, we would know it,” the scrawny werewolf snarls._

_“Then maybe your werewolf senses just ain’t workin’ right, ‘cause the Campbells don’t take prisoners.”_

_“Okay, one last chance.  You gonna call or not?”_

_“Not,” Bobby says._

_“Fine,” the first wolf snaps.  “Marshall, go keep a lookout.”_

_“You gonna wolf out_ now? _” the werewolf who has until now remained silent asks._

_“Yeah.  You got a problem with that?”_

_Marshall shakes his head and slinks out of the room, and I follow.  As soon as he’s out of sight of the others, I manifest myself, snap his neck, and lower his body to the ground gently.  This will not kill him permanently, but I do not have time to do it properly—Bobby will know how to dispose of him._

_Cloaking myself again, I return to the room and see Bobby struggling against his bonds as the first werewolf strips himself of his jacket and shirt.  I reach out with the tips of my wings and slowly apply pressure to his neck, cutting off his air supply._

_“What the—” he chokes, scrabbling uselessly at his neck._

_His partner notices that he’s choking but cannot do anything to help, so he begins to transform.  I snap the first werewolf’s neck with my wings and hold a palm out, stopping the second’s transformation before breaking his neck as well. They may be able to heal themselves, but it will take time._

_I release Bobby with a wave of my hand, and he looks around warily._

_“Cas?  Show yourself.”  He waits for a moment before sighing.  “Damn idjit.  Fine.”_

_Then he goes about killing the werewolves by plunging silver knives into their hearts.  I watch him finish off the last one before deeming it safe to depart._

_I suppose I could have revealed myself, but then he would have had questions—why I chose not to answer Sam, for instance.  I am not skilled at lying, and the truth would not be pleasing for him to hear._

_I must speak to Crowley about managing his prey more efficiently, though.  If this happens again, Bobby will not dismiss it as a coincidence and will try to get down to the bottom of it.  Though Crowley has agreed to take credit for everything, he is still a demon, and demons lie._

_I fly to his compound and brace myself for another discussion with the slippery creature._

* * *

The front door of Bobby’s house swings open, twenty yards behind me—I’m perched on the hood of an old car, leaning back against the windshield and looking at the stars.  When I was weak, when I was practically human, they had looked really beautiful.

Not anymore.

Footsteps crunch in the gravel, and even if the bond did not alert me to Dean’s presence, I would know by the rhythm of his footfalls that it was him.

He stops by the car, and though I can feel his eyes on me, I do not look at him.  Then he climbs onto the hood beside me, and I scoot away from him, ignoring the part of me that yearns for closeness.  It appears that the week spent denying myself access to Dean helped me substantially in suppressing my urges.

Dean clears his throat.  “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“I uh, couldn’t sleep.  Figured you’d be awake,” he says.  I nod, not bothering to tell him that I don’t sleep, now that I’m an angel again.  He already knows it.  “How’re you holding up?” he asks me.

“I am fine,” I respond.  “You?”

He sighs.  “It’s uh… it’s killin’ me,” he admits.  “I hate… being so close, yet not being able to touch.”

I chance a glance at him and admire his profile—straight nose, strong jaw and cheekbones, long and dark lashes curving away from his eye.  I curl my hands into fists to deter them from venturing toward his face and turn my face away to look back up at the night sky.

“Why are you telling me?” I ask.

“Because you’re the only one who gets it.  And… and I know you won’t laugh at me.  Not about this, anyway.”

“I apologize, Dean.  This bond must be very inconvenient for you.”

“Well, you said it worked both ways, so at least we’re going through it together.”

“Yes.”

It’s silent for a while after that.

Then a spike of heat spreads through me from my arm, where Dean’s hand is now resting.  I flinch away, trying my best to ignore the pulse of _want_ that flares in me.

“Dean, no,” I say.

“Shh.  I just wanna try something.”

His hand comes into contact with my arm again, then slides down until it reaches my hand.  He weaves his fingers between mine and squeezes my hand gently.

“Good?” he asks in a whisper.

A comfortable, warm feeling fills me up, surrounds me, and I smile.  “Yes.”

“Good.”

But his response sounds strained, and I glance over at him to see that he’s completely rigid.  “Dean?” I say, starting to sit up straight.

“No—Cas, stay.”

“This is not comfortable for you,” I say, leaning away from him and extricating my hand from his grasp.

“It’s better than nothing,” Dean says, shuddering at the loss of contact between us.

As much as I thought the bond affected me, it clearly has a stronger hold on Dean, most likely because mortal souls are not meant to endure a connection as absolute and eternal as this.  I am surprised by the strength of his self-restraint, grateful for the chance to feel such peace.

Giving in to a bit of temptation, I lift my hand and place it along his cheek.  His eyes flutter shut, and he turns his face into my palm.

“Cas…”

His soul is reaching for me, calling me to him, but I have the strength to resist, now.  “Dean, you are remarkably beautiful,” I tell him.

His eyes snap open at this, and though I am able to watch as his pupils dilate, his voice gives nothing away.  “Cas,” he says, brow furrowed, “what the hell?”  I only tilt my head to the side, and he explains, “Guys don’t say shit like that to other guys, you hear me?”

I smile and rub my thumb along the length of his cheekbone.

He groans.  “Fuck.  Cas, you’d better stop touching me now, or I’m… I’m gonna…”

I pull my hand back, still looking at him.  “Perhaps this bond will become tolerable,” I say hopefully.

He shakes his head.  “I don’t think so.  Cas, I… I just… the things I’ve been wanting to do to you lately… you wouldn’t wanna know.”

“I will take your word for it,” I say solemnly, getting a short, tense burst of laughter from him.  “Perhaps you should return to your room,” I say.  “If you still cannot fall asleep, I can help you.”

“Nah, I’ll stay here with you,” he says, shaking his head.  “You’ll watch over me, won’t you?”

“Of course, Dean.”

He smiles and not-so-subtly flips his hand over—the one that had been holding mine earlier.  I lean back against the windshield again and take his hand in mine, curling my fingers around this callused, lifesaving hand.  I rub my thumb along his knuckles gently, and his grip tightens slightly.  I look over to see a small smile on his face, and although he feels that it is not likely, I begin to think that perhaps the worst is over, with respect to our bond.

Lying in the dark, on the hood of a car, holding hands with a human not even close to one thousandth of my age, I stare up at the stars and feel contentment as I’ve never felt it before.  Peace.  Happiness.  And love.

Yes, love.


	22. Step By Step, Heart to Heart

_Dean has left the safety of the house, the protection of my angels, with Sam.  I’m in the middle of battle when Eremiel calls to tell me this.  But I cannot leave—Raphael is present, and without my shields to hold up against the battering ram of his power, my forces may collapse._

_Panic grips me—why would he leave?_

You are to protect him at all costs! _I snap._

_Before I can hear Eremiel’s response, a blade comes toward me from behind.  I act on instinct, dodging to the side, but I’m not fast enough, and it stabs clean through my shoulder.  A loud cry erupts from my throat, and I barely hear several of my angels calling my name._

_The blade is dragged back out of me, and I drop heavily to my knees, shaking with the effort of holding up defenses against Raphael.  He takes advantage, striking down several of my angels with ease before I am able to mend the damage to my vessel._

_Allowing the power of the souls in my possession to recede slightly from protecting my soldiers, I ball my hands into fists.  They light up, and I hear Raphael’s true voice thundering through the realm._

No need to banish me, Castiel.  Goodbye _._

_Then he and his army take flight, and I track their motion to make sure they are truly departing.  When I can no longer sense their presence, I slump to the ground._

_“Castiel,” Rachel says, and her hand comes down to rest on my shoulder._

_I shrug it off and force myself back onto my feet.  I feel weak but I must be strong, if I am to lead.  Our war has been raging for a year, and I only retain about thirty of the fifty thousand souls Crowley gave me.  Twenty thousand have been burned up, mostly for protecting the garrisons that have chosen to follow me._

_But we are fighting a losing battle, and I know it.  Raphael knows it.  His numbers are far greater than mine, so he does not bother protecting them—this gives my soldiers a combat advantage, but my defenses are weakening.  They will not hold forever, and all Raphael has to do is wait for me to lose enough strength so that he’ll finally be able to squash me, like a cockroach._

_The angels under my command take flight, leaving to recover at Rachel’s suggestion.  When the last are gone, only she, Gadreel, and I remain._

_“Castiel,” Rachel says, concerned, “what happened?”_

_“Eremiel called,” Gadreel replies before I can speak.  “I heard his voice.”_

_Rachel’s eyes narrow.  “This was about Dean, then.  Castiel, how many times will you allow him to jeopardize our position in this war?  We’re_ losing _, if you hadn’t noticed.  You cannot be distracted!”_

_“I thought I told you—”_

_“Yes, I know.  I’m not supposed to speak ill of him.  But if you’re fighting the war for his sake, shouldn’t you at least do it right?  Stay focused.”_

_With that, she takes off, leaving me alone with Gadreel._

_“I hate to say it, but she’s right, you know,” he says softly.  “We need our commander to stay focused on the goal.  Trust Eremiel to take care of your human friends—you have enough to worry about up here.”_

_“As always, you speak reasonably, Gadreel.  But Dean is my priority.  I do not wish him any sort of misfortune.”_

_“He is part of this world.  It is impossible for you to protect him at all times.  If you had been any slower today, that blade could have killed you.  Raphael would have won, and this,_ all _of this, would have been for nothing.  So value your own life as well, Castiel, if only for the sake of that human.  We need you to lead us.”_

_I close my eyes.  “I will take that into consideration.  You may leave, now.”_

_As soon as Gadreel departs, I demand that Eremiel describe the situation to me.  Sam has gone to Dean, and Dean is currently with the Campbell family, participating in a hunt._

_I sigh.  Sam wanted Dean out of the life—why would he drag him back into it?_

_I look around at the newly deceased and try to suppress the regret, the pain that fills me, at seeing so many of my brethren, dead.  Turning away, I flap my wings a few times to take flight.  Compassion for those who chose Raphael—it is something I should not feel.  Not if I want to win.  And I must win, for humanity._

_For Dean._

* * *

Hours later, a rustle of wings alerts me to a brother’s arrival.

The sun is just peeking over the horizon, and Dean has pulled me in so that my head is resting on his chest.  The hypnotic up-and-down motion of his breathing had lulled me into a comfortable, soporific state, and I stretch my wings as I test out the new presence.

Gabriel walks into sight, and I see a concerned frown on his face.

_It’s fine_ , I tell him.  _Nothing happened._

The concerned look disappears, and he waggles his eyebrows impressively in a manner that I do not believe my vessel would be capable of emulating, if ever I had the inclination to do so.

_Why are you here?_ I ask him.

“Got news for you, bro!” he says loudly.

Dean jolts awake, dislodging me as he scrambles to find a weapon.

“Dean,” I say, and he relaxes, looking around and spotting the source of his disturbance.

“What the hell, Gabriel?” he moans, flopping back against the windshield.  The car beneath us groans in protest.

“Michael’s bringing good ol’ Raphael back today,” Gabriel reports.

So soon?

Beside me, Dean stiffens.  “Why is he bringing _that_ douchebag back?”

“Uh, _family_.  Hello?” Gabriel responds.  But then he notices my lack of enthusiasm.  “Cas, what—”

“You are aware that I was the one who killed him, aren’t you?”

“Sure, yeah.”

“And he is far closer to Michael than I ever will be.”

“Oh,” Gabriel says, his smile fading.

“Oh? Oh, what?” Dean asks, looking back and forth between us.

“Michael may have found a way to emulate creation, but he is not God,” I explain.  “He only has the available energy in the universe to work with.  God created only four archangels, so there can only be four.”

And then Dean understands.  “You’re saying that Michael’s gonna take away your special powers for that douchebag brother of his.”

“Yes.  And when all has been restored to the way it was, Raphael will have the desire—and power—to kill me,” I conclude.

“I won’t let that happen,” Dean says, sitting up and looking at me.

Gabriel laughs.  “Really, Dean?  I admire your uh… no, that’s not quite right.  I _approve_ of your intention, but how will you stop any of this from happening?  You have no control over Michael—none of us do.”

“We’ll… we’ll figure something out,” Dean says.

Gabriel sighs.  “All right, look.  What Michael chooses is… pretty much set in stone.  We can’t do anything about it.  But I can at least protect Cas from Raphael.  And that’s probably the best we can do, in these circumstances.”

I nod, but Dean shakes his head.  “What a dick,” he mutters.  “First he sends you down here to test you against the Leviathans ‘cause he’s too chicken to do it himself, and _now_ —”

“Dean, stop,” I say.  “Gabriel has ensured my safety, and that is all that matters.”

Dean gets off the hood of the car.  “Let’s go inside,” he says.  “I need a beer.”  He turns and stalks off toward the house without bothering to wait for us.

Gabriel and I take our time as we head back toward Bobby’s house.

“Anything on Kali?” I ask.

He grimaces.  “She’s angry.  Won’t talk to me.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I _did_ lie to her about my identity for a few millennia.  I guess she’s entitled to be pissy for a few years.”

“I don’t _have_ a few years, Gabriel,” I say as we enter the building.  “We need to meet the Spider, see what she knows.”

“I’ve already said this before, Cas.  She won’t—”

“Then I’ll make her.”

Gabriel frowns.  “Cas…”

“If it comes down to a choice between her world and ours, I will invariably choose ours.  Don’t tell me you would choose differently.”

“Well of course not, but the Spider is my friend.  She—”

“If she is your _friend_ , then you will convince her to speak to us.  If anyone knows how to kill a Leviathan permanently, I am certain it will be her,” I say.

Gabriel regards me warily.  “You’re different from the Cas I met before I died,” he observes.

I glance around the room, noting that Bobby is in the basement and that Sam and Dean are both in the kitchen.  I know that the humans I consider my charges may have accepted my help, but that does not mean I have been forgiven for all of my perceived offenses.  It’s easier to speak of the war in Heaven while they are not present.

“Yes,” I answer Gabriel.  “That Cas was naïve and did not fully understand war.  I led a rebel army against Raphael for nearly two years, brother.  How can you expect me to remain the same?”

I finish just in time—Sam’s footsteps announce his approach moments before he enters the room.

“Hey,” he says.  “Dean told me about Raphael.  Sorry, Cas.”

“It is not of import.  I already expected that this day would come.  I just did not know that it would be so soon.”

“It’s all right,” Gabriel says with a smile.  “You’ve still got an archangel up your sleeve, and the Leviathans don’t even know I’m back, yet.”

“Return to Kali,” I say.  “We will be fine.  Let me know when you can take me to Purgatory.”

“You sure about that?  What if Raphael comes for you?” Gabriel asks.

“I will call for you if I cannot handle the situation,” I say.

“I don’t like that idea,” Dean says, leaning on the doorframe.  “What if Raphael shows up and just snaps his fingers, hmm?”

“I am certain he would want to vent his anger before doing so,” I reply.  “And I think Michael may intervene if it comes to a fight to the death—he still wants the Leviathans gone.”

“Good point,” Gabriel says.  “Well, I’ll keep an ear open.  See ya!”

Dean opens his mouth to protest, but my brother is already gone.  “That son of a bitch,” he mutters.  “If you… if anything happens to you, I’m gonna kill ‘im.”

“I appreciate your sentiment.  But if it is not his fault, you will need to continue working with him against the Leviathans,” I say.

Dean stares at me for a tense moment before crossing the room and placing his hands at the nape of my neck, pressing his forehead to mine.

“Dean—” Sam begins, sounding worried.

“We’re fine, Sammy.  Go,” Dean says, closing his eyes.

“Uh, Cas?”

“Dean, it would be safer if Sam remained in the room,” I say.

He exhales through his nose and says, “Fine.  Then listen.”

“Dean—”

But Dean starts silently praying, and I cannot ignore his words.

_I don’t think I can take you dying again.  I can’t.  And don’t interrupt me because I… I need to get this out.  Cas, I’m not exaggerating.  Even without our… bond, or whatever this is, your death… hurt.  You saw me, what it did to me.  So just… don’t leave me.  You hear that?  Don’t leave me.  Please._

I open my eyes—I hadn’t even realized that I’d closed them—and see his eyes just inches from mine, echoing his mental plea.

“I won’t,” I whisper.

He blinks once.  _Promise?_

I nod without breaking our gaze.  “Of course, Dean.”

Across the room, Sam clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably.

“Deal with it, Sammy.  You’re the one who wouldn’t leave when I told you to,” Dean says, but his gaze still hasn’t left mine, and his eyes are filled with gratitude.  He _believes_ me.  It is a miracle.

“Wow, Dean,” a female voice says.  “Didn’t think you swung that way.”

I start to pull away, but Dean doesn’t move, so I don’t force him to let go.

“Then again,” Bela continues, “I completely understand.  If I were you, I’d probably turn gay too, for such a pretty piece of arse.”

“Bela?” Dean says, closing his eyes.

“Yes, Dean?” Bela says sweetly.

“Fuck off.”

Bela just laughs in response.

“Get outta here, demon,” Bobby says as he comes out of the basement.

Bela hesitates, but none of us stop her, so she exits the house.

“So Meg really was working alone, except for Bela,” Sam says.

Bobby nods.  “Pretty damn sure.”

“It makes sense,” I say.  “Bela Talbot is one of the youngest demons I’ve ever seen—taken away from the rack almost too early.  It takes a long time for a human soul to become shaped into a proper demon.  I believe the standard minimum length of time spent flaying souls in order to become a demon is a decade, in Earth time.”

Dean backs away from me slightly, but I can feel him shuddering nonetheless, and I regret mentioning the rack.  It wasn’t strictly necessary—when did I ever waste time on trivial details before?

“She’s only been dead for… maybe four years,” Sam says, forehead scrunching up as he tries to remember.

“That makes her even younger than I would have guessed—Meg must have been desperate,” I comment.  Then I pause to think about the new system.  How will Crowley create new demons if he no longer tortures souls?  Has he devised another way to warp human souls into demons?

Dean gives the back of my neck a squeeze before moving away, and I barely manage to stop myself from pulling him back.  “So, what now?” he says.

Sam shrugs.  “Bobby, you got anything for us to hunt?”

“Do I look like someone who’s waitin’ to do your homework for you?  Find your own damn hunt.”  Bobby heads toward his study.  “And quit bringin’ demons into my house!” he adds as he leaves.

Sam and Dean are both smiling, and I understand the unspoken sentiment they share—they’re both just glad to have him back.

“I’ll get on my laptop,” Sam says.  “You two okay if I leave you alone for a minute?”

“Yeah, I’ll try my best not to spontaneously combust,” Dean responds.

Sam holds his hand out with his third finger extended as he goes upstairs.  I understand that it is meant to be a rude gesture, but Dean only laughs.  Then he picks a book up from one of the stacks piled around the room and blows dust off the cover.

“Hey Cas, take a look.”

I accept the thick tome and open it.  “This is in Sanskrit,” I say, scanning a page.  “Can Bobby even read it?”

Dean shrugs.  “Tell me if you find anything interesting.”

I frown.  “Why?”

“To pass the time.”

“I doubt I will find much in this book that I do not know already,” I say, flipping through a few pages.  There are a number of rituals that involve cows.

“Oh, I know just the thing,” Dean says suddenly, snatching the book and dropping it on a random stack.  It’s to the left of the one from which he had taken it, but before I can point out that he’s misplaced the book, Dean is tugging on my arm, and it becomes difficult for me to focus on anything other than the resurging need to touch his shoulder.

“Dean, I think it’d be best if we had minimal physical contact,” I say.

He takes a deep breath and releases my arm.  “Right.  Yeah.  Just uh, come on.”

Sam’s at the top of the steps when we reach it, and he backs out of the way to let us through.  “What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Giving our friend a few lessons in music,” Dean says.  Sam raises his eyebrows but says nothing.  “C’mon, Cas,” Dean prompts.

We enter Dean’s room, and he gets out an old cassette player.

“Dean, I am already familiar with your taste in music.”

Dean chuckles.  “Oh, really?  Picked it up on the road, huh?”

“Um, no.  I had access to all of your memories.”

“Hmm,” Dean grunts, rummaging through a drawer.  “All right then, what kind of music do I like?”

“Metallica, Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Mo—”

“Those are just names, Cas,” Dean interrupts.  “You ever heard any of that, or paid attention while I was driving?”  I shake my head.  “Eh, that’s all right.  We’ll make up for it now,” he says, pulling a tape out of the drawer.  “Access to all my memories, and you didn’t think to appreciate my musical taste?” he asks as he inserts the tape and presses rewind.

“No,” I answer.  The device makes a whirring noise at Dean’s command.  “I may recognize some lyrics.  I find that they are akin to poetry.”

Dean makes a face.  “Poetry, Cas?  Seriously?”

“Poems can be very expressive,” I say, and Dean just shakes his head.

Then the tape player reaches the beginning, and Dean grins at me.  “All right, let’s see how your musical instincts are,” he says, and presses “play.”

* * *

_I knock two angels off their feet simultaneously and plunge my blade into the right one’s throat.  The other is back on his feet sooner than I’d expected, but I dive forward, rolling out of the way of his jab.  A bright light signals the death of the first._

_A knee strikes me between the shoulder blades, and I grunt in pain and take flight before my attacker can ground me._

_Just as I land and strike down an opponent who was sneaking up on Gadreel, I hear a familiar voice._

Now I lay me down to sleep.  I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here.

_Only Dean would pray to me in that tone.  An angel barrels at me, armed with two blades, and I duck first one, then the other, before gripping both his wrists._

Come on, Cas!  Don’t be a dick.

_Another brother drives toward my back, and I dig my heels into the ground before pivoting, throwing my attacker into the direct path of the blade intended for me._

We got ourselves a… plague-like situation down here and…

_A bright flash of light.  Before the backstabber can withdraw his blade, I expand my sphere of influence, blasting all enemy angels out of this realm.  My soldiers look to me, surprised._

…do you… do you copy?

_“Castiel, what are you doing?” Gadreel asks, stepping forward._

_“I must go.”  Without another word, I descend to Earth._

_“—son of a bitch,” Sam is saying, “doesn’t answer—” he stops himself for a moment and then says, “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?”_

_Sam twists in his chair to face me, and I smile faintly.  My head is still buzzing with the effort it took to banish all those opponents._

_“Hello.”_

* * *

_“Cas, you realize you just kidnapped a kid?” Dean says._

_“If the angel we seek truly bought this boy’s soul…” I pause, trying to reword my thoughts to better explain what I plan to achieve.  “When a claim is laid on a living soul, it leaves a mark—a brand.”_

_Sam scoffs.  “What, like a—like a shirt tag at camp?”_

_“I have no idea.  But I can read the mark and find the name of the angel that bought the soul.”_

_“How?” Dean asks._

_“Well, painfully for him.  The reading will be excruciating,” I say, rolling up a sleeve._

_“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.  Hold on.”_

_“Dean.”_

_“He’s a kid, Cas.  A ki—Sam?”_

_Sam looks over at me.  “Any permanent damage?”_

_“What?!” Dean exclaims._

_“Physically minimal,” I respond to Sam._

_“Oh, well yeah, then by all means, stick your arm right in there,” Dean says sarcastically._

_“Dean!  If I get the name, I can work a ritual to track the angel down.”_

_“And I’m all for that,” he says.  “But come on.  There’s gotta be another way.”_

_“There_ is _no other way.”_

_“You’re gonna torture a kid?” he asks after a pause._

_“I_ can’t _care about that, Dean!” I say, perhaps more emphatically than I should have.  Frustration is rising to the surface—I need the weapons.  We are losing more and more ground to Raphael, and I cannot waste time on these details.  “I don’t have the luxury,” I add._

_Then I press the hand of my vessel into the boy’s chest.  He instantly starts screaming, and I try to soothe his soul the best I can as I search for the mark.  When I find it, I pause.  Read it again.  And then again._

_Balthazar?  It isn’t—isn’t possible.  I saw the wings burned into the ground, saw his blade.  I returned it to Rachel myself, when she came to collect it.  I could never mistake another blade for Balthazar’s.  It just… it isn’t possible._

_I remove my hand slowly, and the boy falls silent.  “He’ll rest now,” I say._

_“Did you get a name?” Sam asks.  “What is it?”_

_“I thought he died in the war,” I say softly.  For his was the third death after I rebelled from Heaven, starting the war between the Winchesters and their destiny._

_“What, he—he was a—he was a friend or something?” Sam prods._

_I sigh regretfully.  The word was clear.  He must be alive.  “A good friend,” I reply.  Why would he be buying souls?_

_“Yeah well, your frat buddy is now moonlighting as a crossroads demon,” Dean says._

_“Balthazar—I wonder…”_

_“So we can find him now, right?” Sam asks._

_“Balthazar,” an unfamiliar angel says as he lands in the room.  “Thanks, Castiel.  We’ll make good use of the name.”_

_Then he charges at me, brandishing a blade.  Sam and Dean back out of the way rapidly, and I lift my own blade to parry the blow.  He takes a swing at my chest and I back up to dodge it before lifting again to stop his next downward strike.  Our blades cross, and we’re brought face to face._

_“And by the way, Raphael says hello,” he says._

_I shove him toward the window, but he manages to disarm me.  We face off for a moment, and he flips the blades towards me before lunging forward.  I slip to the side and grasp his arms, kneeing his wrists so that both blades fly out of his hands and clatter to the ground.  I throw him off me, and without giving him time to recover, I grab onto him and charge to the window, driving both of us through the glass._

_The fall to the ground is quick, and instead of expending more energy—I already wasted more souls than I should have by ending my battle early—I allow myself to land on the car parked beneath Sam and Dean’s window._

_Slight pain registers, but all I can do is think about how Balthazar could possibly have survived._

_The other angel has already gone._


	23. The One Who Walked In When the Others Walked Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing the flashbacks for Season 6 because we really didn't see much of Castiel's story. So as you've already seen (I should've put this Chapter Note up a few chapters ago but I can't be bothered to do it just now), there are battle scenes and some insights into what I imagine Cas would have been doing while he was off fighting his war.
> 
> This chapter will contain a series of Castiel's journeys to alternate realities; his reason for doing this will become obvious soon, if you haven't already guessed it.

_Strange music is playing.  The double doors swing shut behind me, and I grip my blade._

_“Cas.”  His voice is unmistakable, even after all this time.  “You’re here.”_

_I turn to face him.  “Balthazar.”_

_“It’s so good to see you.  He told me you were floating around.”_

_“He?” I repeat._

_“I believe you two have flown together?” he says, chuckling.  The lights turn on, and the strange music stops playing.  I see the unnamed angel who attacked me on Raphael’s behalf, lying dead on the ground.  “Oh, you know,” Balthazar says as a frog crawls out of the angel’s mouth, “the old frog in the throat.”_

_“Even I know that’s a bad joke,” I say.  “I grieved your death.”_

_“Yeah, yeah.  I’m sorry about that, you know.  I wanted them to think, you know, so… they wouldn’t come looking for me?”_

_“What… is all this?  What are you doing?” I ask, stepping closer._

_“Whatever I want.  This morning I had a ménage a—what’s French for twelve?”_

_I ignore this.  “You stole… the staff of Moses?”_

_“Sure, sure,” he replies.  “I stole a_ lot _of things.”_

_“You were a great and honorable soldier,” I say, watching this brother of mine as he walks past me.  “We fought together,” I say to his back._

_“Yes, too many times to count,” he agrees._

_“I know you.  You’re not some common thief.”_

_He turns to face me.  “Common?  No.  Thief?  Eh.”_

_“I need your help,” I say._

_“I know.  I’ve been hearing all about you, and as far as I’m concerned, you and me, Cas… nothing’s changed.  We’re brothers.  Of course I want to help you.”_

_“Thank you.  I need the weapons.”_

_“Don’t ask_ that _.”_

_“Why take them?  Why run away?”_

_“Because I_ could! _” he says.  I just look at him, uncomprehending.  “What?” he says.  “What, I mean—you’re the one who made it possible.  The footsteps I’m following—they’re yours.”_

_But I would never steal the weapons of Heaven._

_“What you_ did _,” he continues, lowering his voice slightly, “stopping the big plan, the prize fight?  You did more than rebel.  You tore up the whole script and burned the pages for all of us.”  He laughs.  “It’s a new era.  No rules, no destiny—just utter and complete freedom.”_

_“And this is what you do with it?” I say._

_“Hey, screw it, right?  I mean, Dad’s not coming back.  You might as well blow coke, and jump on the bed.  You proved to me we could do anything, so I’m trying_ everything _.  What difference does it make?”_

 _“Of course it makes a diff—it’s_ civil war _up there!”_

_“I know.”_

_“If we can beat Raphael, we can end this!  Just give me the weapons.”_

_My brother laughs.  “Do you know what’s funny about you?  You_ actually _believe that you can stop the fighting.”  He pauses.  “It will never stop,” he says emphatically.  “My advice: grab something valuable, and fake your own death.”_

_“You’ve gone insane,” I say.  Where has Balthazar gone?  This angel in front of me is nothing like the one I knew, the one who I thought died for me.  “Your little holiday is over,” I continue.  “Raphael knows you’re alive by now.”_

_“Oh, Raphael can try me anytime.  I’m armed.  I’m sorry, Cas.  All else aside, I’m really,_ really _happy to see you.  Even though you still have that stick up your arse.”_

_A crash of thunder interrupts us, and I frown._

_“Was that you?” Balthazar asks.  I shake my head minutely.  “Oh, that’s my cue then,” he says.  “Tell, uh, Raphael, to bite me.”_

_He vanishes with a snap of his fingers.  Hardly a moment later, another angel appears in the room.  The expression on his face is murderous, and I can tell that he serves Raphael._

_“You’re making a mistake,” I say, holding up my left hand.  He approaches, clearly intending on attacking me.  “Please.  There is another way,” I say as I lift my blade, flipping it around in preparation to throw it, if need be.  He continues to advance.  “Brother, please—I  don’t want to hurt you.”_

_But he does not stop, and I throw the blade directly into his chest.  He cries out in agony, and his Grace is snuffed out._

_“Why won’t any of you listen?” I ask no one in particular._

_Then a hand fists my hair.  I instinctively try to take off, but my wings have been pinned._

_“They don’t listen, Castiel, because their hearts are mine,” Raphael says, turning me so that he can grip the lapels of my coat.  The motion of my vessel is restrained, and though I do my best to fight it, I cannot move._

_Raphael throws me through the double doors, and I take blow after blow.  He forces me to feel the pain of every hit, and then he throws me down the stairs.  I get to my feet and turn around to find that he’s already landed right in front of me.  I try again to strike him, but my vessel cannot attack.  He deals me a blow to the head that lands me on my knees._

_“Somehow,” he says, revealing his blade, “I don’t think God will be bringing you back this time.”_

_He lifts his arm to stab me, but a shout from behind him makes him turn around._

_“Look at my junk,” Balthazar says, holding up a crystal that begins to glow brilliantly._

_“No,” Raphael protests, holding his hand out as though to take the weapon away._

_But it’s too late for him—I watch as his vessel crystalizes and then begins to crumble away, bit by bit.  Finally, he collapses to the ground, a pile of salt and clothing.  I look up at Balthazar, taken by surprise._

_He chuckles.  “Same thing happened to Lot’s wife.  Iodize the poor sucker, and your kitchen is stocked for life,” he says, laughing._

_I get back to my feet.  “You came back.”_

_“Well, now Raphael will have to go shopping for a new vessel.  Should give me a nice, long head start.  Until next time.”_

_“Next time,” I agree._

_“No time like the present,” Dean says before lighting a circle of holy oil around Balthazar._

_“Holy fire.  You hairless ape!  Release me!” Balthazar demands._

_“First you’re taking your marker off of Aaron Birch’s soul!” Dean says._

_“Am I?” Balthazar says, challenging Dean._

_“Sam?!” Dean says._

_“Unless you like your wings extra crispy,” Sam says as he opens a bottle of holy oil, “I’d think about it.”_

_“Castiel, I stood for you against Heaven,” Balthazar says.  “Are you gonna let these two—”_

_“I believe… the hairless ape has the floor,” I reply, glancing at Dean to find him watching me closely.  Upon receiving my support, his attention turns back to Balthazar._

_My brother looks between Dean and me and then laughs as though he’d expected me to side with him, and the fact that I didn’t amuses him.  “Very well.”  He takes a deep breath and touches his hands to his forehead, concentrating.  A moment later, he says, “The boy’s debt is cleared.  His soul is his own.”_

_“Why are you buying up human souls, anyway?” Dean asks._

_“In this economy?  It’s probably the only thing worth buying,” Balthazar answers.  “Do you have any idea what souls are worth?  What power they hold?  Now… release me.”_

_“Suck it, ass clown,” Dean says.  “Nobody said anything—”_

_I lower my hand, putting out the flames._

_“Cas, what the hell?” Dean demands of me._

_“My debt to you is cleared,” I say to my brother._

_“Fair enough,” he replies, and takes flight._

_“Cas, are you out of your mind?” Dean says angrily._

_But I don’t have time to argue with him—Balthazar will be out of my reach if I do not hurry.  I shift out of their plane and fly rapidly to catch up with my brother.  He attempts several times to shake me off before giving up and landing in a glen in Scotland._

_“I thought you said—” he begins._

_“Our debt is cleared.  That does not mean I cannot request that you help me,” I say._

_He shakes his head.  “Not the weapons, Cas.  I can’t reveal their location.  Now that Raphael knows I’m alive, he will be watching.  He could interrupt our transaction.  If the weapons end up in his hands, well, think of what a disaster that would be for the two of us.  Better that I keep them under lock and key.”_

_“Balthazar, I need them.  My position is precarious.  I cannot—”_

_“I’m sorry, brother,” he says.  “I would give them to you if I could, but I can’t.  I… I’ll join you.  I can help you fight.”_

_“No.  If you die, the weapons will be lost.  I need them.”_

_“Then what do you suggest we do?”_

_I shake my head.  “I don’t know.”_

_Rachel lands beside me.  “Castiel, I can’t_ believe _—” she begins in an angry tone, but then her eyes land on Balthazar, and she takes a step back._

_He chuckles.  “Hello, Rachel.”_

_She blinks at him several times.  “Balthazar.  I… you… I still have your blade.”_

_“Ah yes, would you mind returning that to me?  I’ve actually rather missed it.”_

_“You’re alive,” she says._

_Balthazar smiles at me.  “I’m an excellent distraction, am I not?  It appears I’ve saved you from being reprimanded by our dear sister.”_

_“Temporarily.  Thank you for reminding me,” Rachel says, turning on me._

_“You are still under my command,” I say.  “You cannot tell me what to do.”_

_“Fine.  Let me strongly suggest that you ignore Dean Winchester.  You used so much energy today—cleared an entire battlefield of enemy soldiers.  That can’t be easy.  This type of power has to be reserved to fight Raphael, not to abandon your duties so that you can see to one human being, no matter what he’s done in the past.”_

_“Without him, we would have no future to fight for,” I say._

_“Well, without him, perhaps we wouldn’t have to fight at all,” Rachel snaps.  “I love you, brother, but I cannot approve of your attachment to this human.”_

_“I have to say I agree with her, Cas,” Balthazar says._

_“You are only saying this because Dean threatened to kill you.”_

_“He did_ what? _” Rachel demands._

_“Dean threatens to kill many people,” I explain.  “Balthazar is not unique.”  Rachel opens her mouth, no doubt to continue speaking ill of Dean, but I’ve already given her a warning.  If she is allowed to continue without punishment, then I will lose authority.  “Stop,” I say before she can speak.  “I’ve warned you.”_

_Rachel stares at me for a long moment before flying away._

_“He’s the sole reason that you rebelled in the first place, isn’t he?” Balthazar asks.  I don’t respond, but he already knows that he’s right.  He shakes his head.  “Cas, this is not going to end well for you.  Humans don’t—”_

_“That is none of your concern,” I interrupt.  “Will you help me or not?”_

_Balthazar sighs.  “A distraction.”_

_“Pardon?”_

_“We’ll need one hell of a good distraction.  If we have that, then I can transfer the weapons to your possession,” he says._

_“Thank you, Balthazar.”_

_A long silence follows in which we stare at each other—I am awaiting his response._

_Finally, he looks away, shaking his head slightly.  “Cas, the things I do for you…”_

_And I smile, because the Balthazar I know is still here.  Some things never change, after all._

* * *

“I… fold,” I say.

Bobby frowns but says nothing.  Meanwhile, Sam shakes his head, and Dean laughs a little.

“Cas, are you doing this on purpose?”

“No, Dean.”

“Dude.  We just said we were gonna teach you how to call a bluff.  Not a stretch to figure out I was bluffing,” he says.

“I don’t think angels were wired to play poker,” Bobby says, fiddling with two chips.

“Nah, that’s just Castiel,” Gabriel says, and all three humans at the table jump in surprise.  “I am fantastic at the game, if I may say so myself.”

“Yeah, probably ‘cause you read people’s minds,” Sam says.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t _cheat_ ,” Gabriel says as though he’s scandalized by the idea.

“Why are you here?” I ask.  “Has Kali spoken to you?”

“Nope.  I’m just dropping in to make sure my little bro is still intact.”

I frown and get to my feet.  “Are you sure that Michael was going to finish today?” I ask, stretching out my cloaked wings and finding that they are still the strong, gold wings of an archangel.

“Positive,” Gabriel replies.  “It’s what he told me.”

“Maybe Michael’s told Raphael to keep his hands off you,” Sam says to me.

I shake my head.  “I am still an archangel.  Raphael has not risen.”

But then there is a flash of lightning, and Raphael appears in the body of Donnie Finnerman—the one that Balthazar turned to salt so long ago.  Dean, Sam, and Bobby leap to their feet, but Gabriel and I remain motionless.  Raphael is folding a pair of white wings behind his back, tinged gold toward the outer edges, and I can only blink at him.  He is a seraph.

“Uh… looks like he’s risen, all right,” Dean says.

“Gabriel.  Castiel,” Raphael says, and his eyes are full of hatred when they rest on me.

“Hey, bro,” Gabriel says casually.  “What happened upstairs?”

I would like to know this as well—did Michael choose to grant me these powers indefinitely, or is he simply giving me more time to rid the world of Leviathans?  I know it is possible to shift power from one being to another.  Difficult, but certainly possible, so that is not the issue here.

“It appears Michael still has use for you, Castiel,” Raphael says, “and while he still does, you will retain these powers.  But they are rightfully mine.  You can’t keep them.”

“I don’t care as much for power as you do,” I respond.  “When the Leviathans are gone, this power will no longer matter to me.  Michael can do what he wishes with it.”

“You always were foolish, Castiel.  Do you think I will allow you to walk away when you were the one who killed me?”

“Dude.  He was only returning the favor,” Dean—quite correctly—points out.

“Don’t speak to _me_ , human.  What right do you creatures who crawl on this muddy planet have to speak to me?”

“Who do you think you are?” Dean answers.  “Sorry to break it to you, but you’re not an archangel anymore, you self-righteous, arrogant prick.”

Gabriel is smiling with approval at Dean, and I feel as though we’ve fallen into an alternate dimension when Dean just grins back.

Raphael sniffs disdainfully and turns away.  “You have two archangels protecting you today, measly little runt.  But when you’re on your own, you had better watch your back.”

Raphael tries to fly away, but I reach a hand out and pin his wings.

“Not so fast,” I say.  “Do you really think I would let you leave after hearing such a threat?”  I lower my voice to what I understand is a more menacing register.  “As you so _keenly_ observed, I am an archangel, and you are not.  I can rip you apart as you did me.”

“Michael would stop you,” he says, but his confidence is false.

“Oh, would he?” I say.  “He deemed me more of a necessity than you.  In a fight, do you really think he would be so impractical as to choose you instead?  Between the two of us, do not forget that _I_ was the soldier.  You… you just happened to be granted mightier powers.”

Raphael turns around to glare at me, but he cannot refute my claims.

“If you carry out your threat against Dean, I will make sure that you suffer for eternity.”

He looks furious.  “You can’t—”

“ _Eternity_ ,” I emphasize.  Then I snap my fingers, banishing him back to Heaven.

The room is silent for a moment, and then Gabriel whistles.

“Damn, little bro!  You are _hot_ when you break out the extra deep voice!”

I turn in time to see the humans all cringing.

“Gabriel, that was so incestuous,” Sam says, wrinkling his nose.  “And creepy.”

“Oh, come _on_.  It’s not as though we grew up together or anything.  We’re practically strangers.  Right, Cas?” Gabriel says, grinning widely.

“Incestuous, and creepy,” Sam repeats for emphasis.

Gabriel rolls his eyes.

“Don’t you have a pagan goddess to be seducing?” Dean says pointedly.

“Yeah, yeah, all right.  I’ll get out of your way,” Gabriel says.  “Bye, all!” he calls out before vanishing.

“I think we’re about done with poker for tonight,” Bobby says.  No one protests, so he starts putting the chips back into the box they came in.

Dean yawns widely.

“You should sleep,” I tell him, remembering that he had had trouble doing so last night.

He grins.  “Looks like it’s bedtime for me.  Angel said so,” he says as Bobby enlists Sam’s help in putting away the poker set.

“Lazy-ass jerk!” Sam calls as Dean’s climbing up the stairs.

“Whiny little bitch!” Dean responds.

I find myself picturing the happy look that Dean wears whenever he banters back and forth with Sam, and I wish I could do something to bring from that emotion…

And then I smile.  I know just the thing.

* * *

_I step through the door without hesitation—fear of what may lie on the other side is just a waste of energy._

_Just as the door swings shut behind me, I hear a loud bang that is followed by a spatter of lead balls slamming into my chest.  The pain is more of an annoyance than anything else, and my vessel starts healing itself instantaneously._

_“What the hell are you?” a gruff voice demands._

_I look up from the healing wounds in my chest and the mending holes in my clothing to see a battle-hardened John Winchester, pointing a shotgun at me.  I find it amusing that his son used the same weapon on me when he first met me, as well._

_“Hello, John Winchester,” I say.  “Where are your sons?”_

_His eyes narrow, and his grip tightens on the shotgun even though he knows by now that it cannot harm me.  “What do you want with them?  Are you working for Yellow-Eyes?”_

_I frown.  What year is it, in this reality?  Then I notice the Impala parked a short distance away from the spot where John is standing.  And—there.  The top half of Dean’s head is visible through the window for just one moment as he peeks over the edge to see what his father is up against.  He instantly drops out of sight when he sees my eyes on him._

_This won’t do.  Sam and Dean are too young, too vulnerable._

_John opens his mouth to repeat his queries, but I take flight before he can voice them.  I hear Uriel calling for me, asking where I am, but I quickly mark my own wrist with a sigil that will hide me from him.  If this reality is set in the past of true reality, then we should not even be on Earth yet._

_I land in a state far away from the Winchesters and kneel in the dirt to draw the symbols that will allow me to signal Balthazar—_ my _Balthazar—and wait for him to draw me back._

 _There are multiple alternate realities—infinitely many, in fact.  Only the true reality, our reality, matters.  The others are just reflections, alternate possibilities played out.  Experiments.  There are a few who don’t believe that there is one_ true _reality, thinking that all of us are just experiments.  After all, I suppose each universe contains people who only believe in the existence of their own universe._

 _But most of us believe that there_ is _one true reality, and that our reality is the one.  One reason for this belief is the fact that upon entering a universe, individuals from our reality take over the body of the corresponding individual in that alternate reality, whenever it is available—this is why Uriel was looking for me.  The other is simply that we seem to be the only ones with the power of traveling between universes.  It has been done before, by angels who wished to learn how decisions could change the future.  Location of a suitable universe was always difficult, but once one was found, events could be manipulated into experimental conditions._

_I don’t wish to do anything quite so complicated—all I need is a safe alternate dimension to use for our distraction.  And John Winchester certainly isn’t enough to protect Sam and Dean.  Perhaps when only demons and smaller creatures were on their trail, he was sufficient, but not anymore._

_The sigils that I just drew begin to light up, and I place my palm in the center to wait._

_One minute passes._

_Then two._

_Three._

_The light becomes near-blinding to the eyes of my vessel, and then I feel his hand grasping mine.  His grip tightens, and then there’s a hard tug._

_I come out on the other side, standing right beside the door.  Balthazar releases my hand and looks at me expectantly, but I just shake my head._

_“Not that one, then?” he says._

_“No.  They were too young.”_

_“Ah.  Very well, let us try another.”  He turns back to the door and presses his fingers to it, wiping away the old set of markings._

_Traveling between these alternate realities is an imprecise art and requires at least two participants—one must remain in the true reality in order to pull the explorer back._

_Balthazar had initially been opposed to this idea.  He didn’t—and still doesn’t, I’m sure—like the possibility that something would happen to him, trapping me in some alternate reality forever.  But I trust that he can take care of himself.  After all, he managed to escape the attack from Barachiel, Haniel, and Ramiel without incident.  As for trusting him not to leave me behind… I suppose I’ve always trusted him.  The whole world could leave me, but I know Balthazar would not.  I would do the same for him._

_Minutes later, he turns back to face me.  “Cas, are you sure this is the only way?  We could—”_

_“It is the only way,” I say.  “And we have wasted enough time searching for other alternatives.  I am running out of strength to fight this war.  I need the weapons.”_

_He sighs wearily and steps out of the way of the door.  “Call me at the first sign of trouble.”  I move toward the door, and he puts a hand on my shoulder, making me pause.  “Just… I hate this,” he says._

_“I will be quick,” I reply._

_He nods and releases my shoulder.  I place my hand on the doorknob and wait for the sigil to burn into the door.  Then I pull open the portal and step through._

_Black._

_Everything is black.  Viscous._

_What—_

_It wraps around my arms, chest, legs, weaves between my fingers._

_“What is thissss?” a voice hisses from all around me._

_Something is terribly, horribly wrong.  I try to open my wings, but even those have been tamped down, repressed by this thick, black ooze.  With great effort, I curl in on myself and let loose the brightness of near a hundred souls.  The ooze burns away from me, and I collapse onto hard, dry ground._

_I instantly press the necessary sigils into the ground, praying for Balthazar to be swift.  Already the blackness is pressing in closer around the brightness of the souls, and they start snuffing out.  I cannot afford to waste too much here.  The supply given to me by Crowley is dwindling, and I cannot ask for more.  Not without giving him even more leverage over me._

_“Casssss-tiel,” the voices hiss in unison, from all around me._

_I shudder and ignore them, pressing my hand to the still-dark sigil and waiting for the light.  What is taking Balthazar so long?  It occurs to me that some universes are farther apart than others, and it may take some time for Balthazar to hear my call, and still more time for him to reach me._

_The dark comes toward me, tendrils snaking out in my direction.  I spread my huge, black wings out, allowing my Grace to pulse through them.  More than ever I wish that my wings were a different color—a brilliant, blinding white would be perfect right now.  The ooze recoils, but not for long.  Soon the tendrils wind inward even more desperately._

_“Deliciousss,” the voices proclaim.  “Sssssso hungry…”_

_Fear grips me.  I’ve felt it before, briefly, but not like this.  What could have happened to this world, to make it look like this?  What is this darkness?  Why does it know my name?_

_At long last, the sigils light up, and I draw my wings in closer to myself, reining in some of the light.  I want to conserve as much power as possible._

_But apparently, I’ve pulled back too much—the ooze swarms in, and I’m engulfed again.  It’s all I can do to remain on the ground, shoving my free hand down into the hard earth so that I can keep my right hand pressed to the sigil that is growing increasingly warm._

_“Oursssss,” the voices protest, but some of the darkness is repelled by the light coming from the sigil._

_The thick fluid presses against my face, forces its way into my mouth.  It’s pungent, caustic, acrid.  The flavor pervades my mouth, and I want to cough as the liquid travels down my throat, burning me from the inside.  I want to cry out, but I’m drowning here in the dark._

_This is how I am going to die, suffocated and swallowed by this unending darkness._

_Balthazar’s hand wrapping around mine is deliverance, absolution, rebirth.  I am drawn through what feels like a tiny rubber tube with a diameter smaller than the width of my hand, but I am grateful for the tightness in my chest, forcing all of the slime out of my body._

_I collapse at Balthazar’s feet and gasp for air even though I have no need for it._

_“Cas?” Balthazar says from a few inches away.  He’s dropped to his knees before me, and his eyes are filled with concern.  “Cas, what happened?”_

_I shake my head, trying to stop my body from shuddering.  It won’t stop.  The ooze knew who I was.  It knew my name.  It wanted to eat me alive.  What happened in that reality?  Is it somewhere in the future—_ my _future?  New shivers wrack my body, and suddenly Balthazar’s arms are around me, solid and steady, unmoving.  Stable._

_“Cas…” he whispers into my hairline as he holds me still.  “It’s over, whatever you saw.  It wasn’t real.”_

_I can’t help but wonder what’s become of all the living beings in that universe.  Did the ooze get them all?  Was everything eaten, devoured by that ravenous black slime?_

_When my limbs stop trembling, Balthazar releases me and gets to his feet.  I am grateful that he doesn’t offer to help me up, that he understands me enough to know how I loathe showing weakness._

_“Are we done for now, or do you want to keep going?” he asks as I regain my feet._

_Before I answer, Rachel calls for me, and we both pause to listen to her prayer:_ Castiel, we need your assistance in Heaven.  Raphael approaches.

_Balthazar looks at me.  “I could continue with Gadreel or Eremiel, if Rachel needs—”_

_“They will make do without me.”_

_“They need your guidance, Cas.”_

_I shake my head.  “No.  I will ensure that we find a safe place for Sam and Dean.  I have to do it myself.”_

_“Don’t you trust the rest of us?” Balthazar asks._

_“I do, but I must be certain.  And when it comes to a choice between trusting myself or trusting another, forgive me for choosing myself.”_

_My brother nods in understanding and turns back to the door, preparing to open a portal into yet another reality._


	24. Back in Black

_I step through, almost expecting the black ooze to engulf me again.  But I find myself on top of a small hill, overlooking an unfamiliar town.  I close my eyes and search the Earth for Sam and Dean, but I find them nowhere.  Are they… dead?_

_“C—Castiel.”_

_I turn around.  “Eremiel.  Hello.”_

_He’s looking at me with awe in his eyes, and I don’t understand until he speaks up.  “Castiel, you… you’re back.”_

_I shake my head.  “Sorry, brother.  I am not.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“I am from a different reality than yours,” I say.  Pain flickers across his face, but it fades quickly.  “Where are Sam and Dean Winchester?” I ask him._

_“Where they’ve been for the past decade—in Heaven.  Of course, you… you don’t know that,” he finishes quietly.  “I can take you to them.”_

_I nod, and he takes off, leading me up into Heaven and through numerous realms before stopping at our destination.  It is a large realm, containing Bobby Singer’s house, as well as Harvelle’s Roadhouse, and a smaller building that I recognize with a start is Sam and Dean’s childhood home in Lawrence._

_“How many souls are in this realm?” I ask._

_“Many are free to come here, but it belongs only to Sam and Dean,” Eremiel says.  “This exception was made for them by God.”_

_“God?” I say.  “He—He is here?”_

_Eremiel’s eyes are sad when he turns to me.  “No.  He hardly comes, but He claims to be watching.”_

_It’s more than I have ever known of God—God abandoned Sam, Dean, and me.  He may have raised me after Lucifer killed me, but it was not because of any love for me.  He did it so that He would have a soldier to pit against Raphael._

_“Come,” Eremiel says.  “Dean is… Everyone will be happy to see you.”_

_As we walk toward Bobby’s house, the front door swings open, and Dean comes out, swinging a set of car keys and whistling a tune that I do not recognize.  He stops short at the sight of me, and it seems he is completely unable to react for a moment.  But then his eyes darken, and he suddenly draws an angel blade and races toward us._

_“Dean!” Eremiel cries, stepping in front of me.  “What do you think you’re doing?”_

_“That’s not Cas,” he says, shaking his head._

_“No,” Eremiel allows.  “No, it isn’t quite him, but let me explain.”_

_“What is that—that_ thing _doing walking around in Cas’s skin?” Dean demands._

_“He is still Castiel.  He is just from an alternate reality.”_

_Dean’s eyes soften.  “Oh,” he says, and the angel blade clatters to the ground.  He stares at me for a long moment before pushing Eremiel out of the way and tugging me into his arms._

_I blink several times, surprised.  “Dean?” I respond.  He has never hugged me before when I returned from the dead.  Why would he be hugging me this time?_

_He backs up slightly and takes off his jacket._

_“Dean, what are you doing?” I ask warily._

_Eremiel’s eyes widen.  “Dean, I would advise against that,” he says, but the words have no effect._

_Dean rolls up his shirt sleeve, revealing a fading handprint.  “Cas,” he says, and his voice shakes slightly._

_I frown at him and lift my right hand, fitting it over the mark.  He closes his eyes, but a moment later he opens them again, looking disappointed._

_“It was a long shot,” he mutters, shaking his head._

_“What are you talking about, Dean?” I ask._

_Then I hear a surprised squeal and turn to see Jo Harvelle racing in my direction as fast as she can.  I turn and open my arms in time for her to barrel into them, and I remember to back up a few steps to absorb some of her momentum so that she doesn’t hurt herself._

_“Cas!” she exclaims, squeezing me tight before backing off.  She’s grinning widely._

_And then I hear other doors opening—John, Mary, and Sam emerge from the old Lawrence house.  Bobby steps out of his house, closely followed by Ellen.  Bobby’s wife stands in the doorway but does not approach._

_Everyone just looks stunned._

_Sam is the next to reach me, long arms wrapping around me, and I never thought I would be the recipient of so many embraces—three in the past few minutes alone.  In my reality, Dean would never embrace me.  Sam, maybe, but not Dean.  I realize that Sam’s soul is healthy and whole around me, and it gives me hope.  But then again, in this alternate reality, perhaps the Apocalypse was averted altogether, and Sam never lost his soul._

_When Sam releases me, the questions come.  How have I returned?  Is it really me?  How is this possible?_

_I notice Dean backing away from the others, turning and walking away from the three main buildings in this realm.  I manage to separate myself from the others and their questions and hear Eremiel explaining the disappointing truth to them._

_“Dean,” I say when I reach him—he’s stopped at the edge of a large cornfield.  I wonder who put this in the realm._

_“It’s… it’s great to see you, Cas,” he says, staring at the large ears of corn._

_“You aren’t even looking at me, Dean.”_

_He turns to look at me, but he flinches when he looks me in the eye.  “I just…” he shakes his head and looks away again.  “I’m sorry.  After everything that happened… I can’t…” he lifts a hand and covers his mouth, lifting his eyes toward the sky, and I see the beginnings of moisture forming at the corners of his eyes._

_“Dean,” I say softly, surprised._

_“Why are you here?” he asks._

_“I am searching for a safe alternate reality for you and Sam,” I say._

_He frowns at this.  “Safe alternate reality?  I don’t know what you—” but then he cuts himself off, eyes widening.  “You mean, you… you searched for the right place to send us?”_

_I blink, surprised.  “You know what I am talking about.”_

_He nods.  “Yes, yes.  I can’t believe… Cas, why didn’t you—”_

_Then Eremiel is placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and I glance back at him._

_“That is enough, Dean,” Eremiel says.  “No one should know what happens in the future.  It appears that Castiel has come from an alternate reality that is placed in our past.  Although his future may diverge from the course that ours has taken, it is still unwise to tell him what happened here.”_

_Dean opens his mouth as though to protest, but then he stops, and his right hand lifts up, pressing over the scar on his shoulder.  “Yeah,” he says, glancing at my eyes before looking away again.  “Yeah, don’t… don’t do anything to risk your life.  Live, please.  For… for my sake.  For the me in your universe, just…” he closes his eyes.  “If you haven’t sent us to an alternate reality yet, you still have a chance to change everything.  I… just… be honest with me.  The other me, I mean.  Tell me.  I’ll… I’ll listen.  I’ll accept what you say, as long as you’re straight with me.  Cas, I—”_

_“You cannot say that, Dean,” Eremiel says.  “Your counterpart in this Castiel’s reality will not behave exactly as you do.  There are differences.  Do not advise him.”_

_I glance over at the other occupants of this realm to see that they’re looking at me sadly.  I wish I could find out how I died in this reality.  It shouldn’t hurt to find out, as this is only one of numerous possible outcomes._

_“Castiel, I think you should return to your reality,” Eremiel suggests._

_I nod.  “Yes, I should.  Goodbye, Dean.  Eremiel.”_

_I return to the hill on which I had arrived and clear a patch of earth, tracing the necessary sigils onto it.  When it’s complete, I sit on my heels and look up at the sky.  Dean had wanted me to touch his shoulder.  Why is that?  The brand there… I suppose it could have had significance to him because I put it there, and in this reality, I am dead._

_It is a strange thought.  I… am dead._

_I contemplate sending my Sam and Dean here for a short period of time—they’ll be in Heaven, among friends.  Once they got over the shock, I think they would enjoy the reprieve…_

_The sigil lights up, and I press my hand to it, waiting for the familiar grasp of my brother’s hand._

_Minutes later, I am back in my own universe, standing before Balthazar.  When he looks at me questioningly, I shake my head.  He turns back to the door without another word, wiping the sigils._

_“I am beginning to think this will not work,” I confess._

_“Why not?”_

_“No matter what alternate reality I enter, angels will always be more powerful than humans.  That is the way of things,” I say.  “This is foolish.  Sam and Dean will not be safe, no matter what I do.”_

_Balthazar shakes his head.  “Cas, I—”_

_I hold up a hand to silence him as I hear in Sam’s voice,_ Castiel, we need you.  It’s important.

_I glance at Balthazar._

_“Go ahead,” he says.  “I’ll summon Eremiel to help.”_

_I shake my head.  “No—go to Heaven,” I reply.  “Assist Rachel however you can.  We will continue our search when I return.  Take care, brother.”_

_He nods.  “And you, Cas.”_

_I focus on Sam and realize that he has been speaking while I wasn’t paying attention.  As I take flight, I flick back through his prayer and see that he mentioned something about a gold box._

_“I’m here, Sam,” I say.  “Where is the box?”_

_“I can’t believe you fell for that,” he says.  “That was the plot of Raiders, idiot.”_

_A bit of anger flares up in me—does he really think I came just for a box?  I asked about it as an afterthought, and I took his words seriously on faith.  “I’m mid-battle, Sam,” I lie, because I know that our distraction would work best if Sam and Dean knew nothing about it._

_“I could give a rat’s ass about your little pissing match with Raphael,” Sam responds._

_“Listen to me, Sam—”_

_“No, you listen!  I don’t care what you’re dealing with up in Heaven.  You_ owe _me.”_

_“You may not care, but believe me—”_

_“I’m sorry, do you think we’re here to talk this out?”_

_“Sam, I can’t just—”_

_“If you don’t help us, I will hunt you down, and kill you.”_

_This type of insolence I cannot take, not from anyone.  Especially not from one whom I would like to call a friend.  “Will you, boy?” I say, stepping closer.  “How?”_

_He holds my gaze.  “I don’t know yet.  But I will look until I find out, and I don’t sleep.”_

_“You need help, Sam,” I say._

_“I need_ your _help,” he counters._

* * *

Dean enters the living room, looking irritable.  Before I can ask, Sam’s voice—quickly followed by his person—enters the room as well.

“I don’t see why you’re upset,” the taller man is saying.  “I mean, we were looking for a hunt, anyway.”

“Yeah, but I just thought we’d have a bit more time,” Dean says, and his eyes rest on me for a moment.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

“Garth—uh, a friend of ours—called for help on a case,” Dean says.

I smile.  “May I join you?”

Dean looks relieved, though he tries to hide it.  “Yeah, of course you can.”  Sam smiles, and Dean frowns at him.  “What?” he demands of his little brother.

“You just didn’t wanna leave Cas behind.  Aw, Dean, you’re _adorable_.”

Dean scowls.  “You know what, Sam?”

“What, Dean?”

“Shut up.”

Sam laughs, and Dean mutters something under his breath before heading upstairs.

The brothers are ready to go less than three minutes later—a life spent on the road has made them very efficient in packing for hunts.  Bobby emerges from his study as the three of us are moving toward the exit.

“Got a hunt?” he asks.

“Yeah, gonna head out to meet Garth.  Werewolves,” Sam says.

Bobby frowns and glances at me, and I remember the trio of wolves I’d killed to save Bobby over a year ago.  “Well, don’t get yourselves killed,” Bobby says gruffly.

“Yeah, we’ll take care of ourselves,” Sam answers.

Dean pulls open the front door and exits, followed by his brother.  Bobby just shakes his head and leaves the room.  I follow the brothers out and smile.

Dean’s frozen in place, and I wait for it to sink in.

“Baby,” he breathes, walking over and running his hands over the paint.

Sam claps a hand on my shoulder in thanks and walks around to the passenger side of the car.

Dean turns as I approach, and I find myself very fond of his smile.  “Dude,” he says, hardly able to contain his excitement.  “No—seriously, _dude_.  When?”

“Last night, I located your car and transported it here,” I respond.

“Oh, man, I could kiss you.”

A rush of tingling warmth moves through me, and I smile again.  “It would probably be best if you didn’t.”

He settles for a hand on the back of my neck, pressing our foreheads together as he did yesterday morning.  “I am one lucky son of a bitch,” he mutters.

I don’t know how I should respond, so I remain silent.  Then he steps away, pulls open the driver’s door, and gets in, letting his hands skim over the steering wheel.  I get into the back seat and bask in the glow of Dean’s happiness.

“Can we get going, Dean?” Sam says, but Dean just shushes him.  Sam rolls his eyes.  “Sometime today?  Part-canine humans might be ripping people apart.”

Dean starts the car.  “S’okay, baby.  Sammy’s happy to see you, too.”

As the car starts moving, Sam snorts and says, “Sure.”

Dean turns the radio on and fiddles with it for a moment until a familiar guitar riff blares over the speakers.  “Hey Cas, you recognize this now, yeah?” he says, and I savor the widening of his smile when I nod.

_Back in black, I hit the sack. It’s been too long—I’m glad to be back…_

* * *

_“Cas, just let me explain.”_

_I release my hold on Balthazar and take a step back.  “Speak.”_

_“You didn’t think it’d be a good idea to put his soul back, and neither did he.  I thought it’d be—”_

_“No,” I interrupt.  “I advised Dean against it.  That is not the same thing as suggesting that Sam commit patricide, and you know it.  Brother, how could you?”_

_“Forgive me, but I heard what you said to Dean about Sam’s soul.  I—”_

_“It still does not justify the suggestion of patricide, Balthazar.  Something that would scar his vessel so deeply, irreversibly…” I shake my head.  “I cannot believe you.”_

_Balthazar sighs heavily.  “Very well.  I apologize for my brash actions.  But no harm done—Dean got back in time to stop him, didn’t he?”_

_“You should be grateful that he did,” I say.  Before he can say anything else, I gesture toward the door.  “Let us begin.”_

_Minutes later, I step through the portal and listen to the snapping sound as it falls shut._

_This world is dark, but not in the same way as the world that had been filled with slime.  I am relieved.  But the light is dim, muted, and I cannot see the sun behind the film of darkness that fills the atmosphere.  I close my eyes and scan the world for Dean, hoping he is nearby.  That he is still alive in this reality._

_“You,” his voice says from behind me, and I spin around in time to see him approaching._

_But… but this… this isn’t Dean.  It is his body, his very human body, but inside is a demon.  I take an instinctive step backwards, unable to stop myself.  I look at the face of the demon, searching for its identity._

_“I killed you,” it continues in Dean’s voice, advancing toward me._

_The truth dawns on me, and I look at him in horror.  He comes closer, yet I cannot move, petrified.  How could this have happened?  How could anyone have let this happen?_

_This really_ is _Dean—the Righteous Man has been shaped into a demon._

_Then his hands are touching my face.  I suddenly feel as though I’ve been dunked into ice water, and I jerk away from his touch.  But he follows me when I back away, and I’m still in too much shock to react._

_Dean.  A demon.  How?_

_My back collides with a wall, and I look at anything but Dean.  We’re in a small town.  The streets within sight are eerily silent, empty._

_“How are you here?” the demon—not Dean, not Dean, any demon but Dean, please—asks.  “I killed you.”_

_I open my mouth to speak, but my voice is gone.  I don’t think I would know what to say even if I could speak._

_His lips curl into a leer, and I flash back to the first time I saw him, to the pure soul that had been torturing souls in Hell.  Even then, after ten Hell-years of inflicting torture, his soul had been untouched.  How long did he have to work in order to become this… this… monster?_

_“Pity that you had to die, really, because you…” he licks his lips slowly, drawing my eyes to the motion, and I become painfully aware of the fact that we are alone here.  “Oh, I am going to_ love _taking you apart, angel.”_

_Eyes widening, I spread my wings to take off.  But Dean reacts faster than I expected him to—before I can escape, a gold collar snaps into place around my neck, and my wings are forced to manifest.  I try to fly away anyway—this should be possible whether or not our wings are visible—but the collar has taken away that capability._

_He smirks when he sees the realization in my eyes that I am trapped.  “Nowhere for you to go, eh, angel?” he says._

_I push him away from me and make a run for it—I won’t go down without a fight.  And if I can get away from him just long enough, Balthazar will be able to reach me.  Behind me, I hear the demon laughing.  I reach for the collar as I run, intending to remove it, but it burns my hands.  This is angelic in origin.  Why would a demon have a tool that angels use to punish their own?_

_I reach the edge of this ghost town and look around.  Dean doesn’t appear to have followed me, but I do not know how strong he is in this universe.  He could be watching me even now.  I drop to my knees at the side of the two-lane highway leading out of the town and draw the symbols into the dirt._

_Please, Balthazar, quickly.  Please._

_Then a hand wraps around my neck from behind, and I’m hauled up onto my feet.  I spin with the momentum and swing my arm at my attacker, but Dean leans back easily to dodge the blow and catches my other arm before it can stab the blade into his side._

_“Ooh!  So close,” he says with a smirk._

_He winks at me, and suddenly I am unarmed.  I feel the blade returning into my possession, but it, like my wings, is now useless to me._

_“You know, it was so nice of you to give this to me,” he says, running a finger along the collar.  “You never even considered that I’d use it on you.  Now I can’t believe I was stupid enough to kill you without at least getting a nice, good fuck out of you first.”_

_“D—Dean,” I stutter, shaking my head._

_His eyes flutter closed for a moment.  “Fuck, I’d forgotten about your voice.  The things it does to me.  Mm, it’s been_ years _, Cas.  Goddamn, how was I so stupid?”_

_Without giving me any time to react, he shoves me to the ground, and I land heavily on my stomach.  In the next moment, he’s straddling my hips, and the hard length of his erection presses into my lower back.  My vessel tenses up reflexively before I even realize what it means._

_“Dean, stop,” I say, reaching within me for my reserves of strength, the ones that rely on the borrowed souls.  I have hardly a hundred left, but it would be more than enough to overpower even a strong demon, like Alastair.  Except that the collar restrains my power, and I do not know if I’ll be able to use it all._

_He leans forward—I can feel heat radiating from his body, overwhelming heat that worries me—and mouths at the side of my neck.  I try to jerk away, but his arms shove down on my shoulders, pressing me into the dirt.  I turn my head to the side and see light coming from the ground a few feet from my head._

_Then Dean’s mouth closes around my pulse point, and he bites down hard.  I cry out and thrash against him, but I have no leverage, and gravity is on his side.  He bites hard enough to draw blood and voices his pleasure in a loud moan._

_“Oh, damn,” Dean slurs against my skin, tongue slipping out to lap at the bite.  “Angel blood is_ so _much better-tasting than human blood.  I feel downright_ holy _now, Cas.  Thanks.”_

_I reach a hand out, but it’s just shy of the center.  As Dean’s mouth seals around the bite again, sucking hard, my fingers brush the edge of the ring of sigils._

_His hands run down my sides, and I take advantage of the fact that they’re no longer holding me down to buck up against him.  He loses balance for a moment, growling, and his hand wraps around my right hand, pulling it away from its goal._

_“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarls as he works to pin me down again._

_I look back at the portal and see Balthazar’s hand reaching out of the dirt, reaching for me.  Before Dean can sufficiently regroup and subdue me, I unleash the muted power of five souls, and it throws him backwards.  Balthazar’s hand is already retreating when I lunge to the side, fingers splayed out to meet his.  As I start to feel the tug, I glance backwards.  Dean’s eyes are black._

_Then I’m back in the empty warehouse with Balthazar._

_“You’re bleeding,” he says, a concerned look on his face._

_My hand flies up to my neck, but the collar is thankfully gone.  The bite mark, however, is still there.  I clean and heal it quickly, erasing the traces that demonic Dean left behind.  That wasn’t him.  It wasn’t him.  It couldn’t have been him._

_“What happened?”_

_“We’re not going to that place,” I say._

_“Cas, what—”_

_“Just no,” I say, shaking my head.  “I’m not talking about it.”_

_“It wasn’t… wasn’t all that black… stuff, was it?”_

_I shake my head again.  “No, not that.  Just pick another destination.  That wasn’t the one.”_

_He nods and obediently clears away the sigils that would take us to that reality.  I turn away as he works and shudder at the memory of not-Dean’s hands, rough and unyielding as they shoved me into the ground.  I can almost feel the sensation of his teeth sliding into my neck, parting flesh and drawing blood._

_Dean would never do that to me.  I have to remember that._


	25. Pick up Where We Left Off

Garth is a scrawnier man than I would have expected—I’ve never seen such a small hunter.  He seems rather clueless as well.  When I mentioned this to Dean, he laughed and said that that was “just Garth.”  So I suppose that cluelessness is a defining quality for him.

Sam is on the laptop now, looking up mythical creatures.  Dean is reclining on one of the beds, flipping through channels lazily.  I enjoy the complete lack of tension in the room, the way that the brothers have slipped so easily into what seems to be their routine setting for hunting.

This particular case does not seem difficult upon first inspection.

Garth is now convinced that the victims were not killed by werewolves.  We have not yet had a chance to view the bodies, as we arrived too late in the evening and the morgue was closed, so it is too early for me to make a conclusive decision in that regard.  Both of the attacks have been related to one family: the wealthy Schwarz family.  Dean commented that we’ll have to look for motive, so I start to mentally review the details a second time.

The elderly Jonathan Schwarz, owner of some large company, passed away peacefully in his sleep two weeks ago.  Last weekend, his body was laid to rest.  His sons were notified that his will had been left in a locked safe, to be opened by a designated lawyer.  It was specifically requested that the man be alone when he opened the safe.

The lawyer was found dead in front of the locked safe, body mutilated, heart ripped out.  Everyone had been waiting in the adjacent room, but they had heard nothing.  No one knew what to make of it.

The sons then hired a second lawyer from out-of-state, one who hadn’t heard of the incident.  This time, they set up a live camera feed to watch from the adjacent room, but then the screen blacked out, and when they tried to open the door, it was locked.  By the time they forced their way in, the lawyer had already been slaughtered in the same manner as the first.

Garth has already spoken to each of the three sons—Jeremy, Dane, and Morgan—their wives, whose names he omitted, and even the late Jonathan’s servants—Leopold and Ayla.  By all accounts, the Schwarz family and its servants are completely ordinary.

But of course, I am not familiar with Garth; perhaps he cannot detect deception as well as Sam and Dean can.

“Hey—Cas?”

I return my awareness to the room and realize that the television has been turned off, and Dean is sitting up, looking at me with a concerned frown.  Sam’s also looked up from his laptop.

“Sorry,” I say.

“What were you thinking about?  You looked like you were in a trance, or somethin’,” Dean says, settling back against the pillows again.  He doesn’t reach for the remote.

“I was considering the case.”

“Yeah?” Dean says with a grin.  “All right, tell me what you got.”

“There are a number of possibilities, but they do not seem to make sense.”  Dean only looks at me expectantly, so I continue, “Based on the attacks alone, a werewolf seems the most likely scenario.  But they cannot walk through walls or scale tall buildings.  They also cannot slaughter their victims noiselessly.”

Dean nods.  “Sounds about right to me.”

“So, most likely not a werewolf,” I tentatively conclude.  Garth does seem to have some things right.  “The attacks are centered around Jonathan Schwarz.  But they cannot be caused by his spirit, as he was already cremated, and his ashes laid to rest.”

“Unless he’s tethered to an object,” Dean points out.

“Like his will,” Sam suggests, and I realize that he’s been listening as well instead of returning to his research.

I shake my head.  “Spirits linger if they are unhappy.  Unsatisfied.  Garth described Jonathan’s death as peaceful.  He died in his sleep, surrounded by family.  I am confident that he is at rest.”

Sam and Dean exchange glances.

“Guess we’d better go with the Heavenly assistance on this one,” Dean says.  “So, what?  Cursed object, then?”

I frown.  “While plausible, it doesn’t seem likely,” I say.  “It is not impossible for a curse upon an object to mutilate its victims, but it is highly unlikely that it can remove whole body parts.”

“Right.  The missing hearts,” Sam says, nodding.  “So what do you think we’re dealing with, Cas?  Some… some sort of a monster, then?”

“Perhaps.  I will have to take a look at the bodies to be sure,” I say.

“We’ll get to that tomorrow,” Dean says.

“About that, um.  Guys, I think it’s best if you two split up tomorrow,” Sam says.

“What?  Why?” Dean asks, visibly disappointed.

“You two and your bond.  It’s just safer if—”

“We were fine for the whole drive, and last night we even shared a motel room,” Dean points out.

“Yeah, but I’ve been here this whole time.  I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you two to end up alone.  I mean, remember what happened last time?  What if Gabriel isn’t fast enough to stop you guys this time?”

Dean opens his mouth to protest, but I speak before he can.  “Sam has a point.  It is safer if we remain separated.”

“Exactly,” Sam says.  “So it’s two against one.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.

“Cas and I will go take a look at the bodies.  Garth can take you to go talk to the family, see what you can figure out about motive.  I mean, I bet there’s gotta be infighting.  Maybe… maybe witches are involved.”

“Man, I hate witches,” Dean grumbles.  “But no, Garth said he checked for hex bags.”

“He could’ve missed something,” Sam says.  “Keep an eye out while you’re at the family mansion.  Cas and I can swing by to help you check it out when we’re done looking at the body.  Sound like a plan?”

“Yep, sounds great, Sammy,” Dean says, and then his mouth opens wide in a long yawn.  “I’m gonna knock out now.  You two keep your geeking out to a minimum.”

Dean slides under the covers and shuts off his bedside lamp, and Sam sighs.  “Guess I might as well just sleep, too,” he says, getting to his feet and crossing the room toward the unoccupied bed.

“Cas, you gonna stare at us all night again?” Dean asks.

“Perhaps,” I say, allowing myself a grin even though Dean can’t see my face in the dark.

“You’re so fucking creepy, Cas, you know that?”

“You love it, Dean,” Sam says.

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

The brothers fall silent, and quiet contentment settles over the room.

* * *

_I step into Bobby’s basement.  Dean is standing with his arms folded across his chest, as though he’s been waiting for me.  This looks… vaguely familiar._

_“Well?” he growls expectantly, and this sounds familiar as well._

_I cock my head slightly to the side.  Well… what?  What is going on?_

_“Cut!” a voice calls from the distance._

_Bewildered, I take in the presence of a number of other people in Bobby’s basement—and then I realize that it is not his basement at all.  One of the walls is missing, and so many people… are those recording devices?_

_Dean is chuckling now, and I do not understand the source of his amusement.  “Hey—” he begins, but the voice from before shouts out again._

_“Back to your mark!”_

_Dean looks at me expectantly, and I frown._

_“Misha, that means you!” the voice continues, and I look up to see the source of the commands—an aged, bearded man with grey hair and large glasses._

_Then Dean steps forward and gives me a gentle nudge towards the not-panic-room.  “Go on,” he says._

_“I am Castiel,” I say, trying to understand why he does not recognize me._

_He grins.  “Yeah.  Now get in position.  I wanna get outta here before midnight tonight.”_

_This confuses me.  Out of where?  I start to look around again, and Dean gives me a harder shove.  I am surprised to find that he can move me without my consent.  Apparently my surprise shows on my face, because Dean looks at me, concerned._

_“Uh, Phil, can we take five?  Misha doesn’t look that great!” he calls over his shoulder._

_The old man grumbles unintelligibly before shouting, “All right, go ahead!”_

_Dean throws an arm around me and leads me out of the false basement, and I do not understand what has happened.  “Mish, what’s up?” he asks, and it becomes clear that he is referring to me as a “Mish,” whatever that is._

_“I am… confused, Dean,” I say._

_He stares at me for a moment, perplexed, before saying, “You’re joking.  Ha, ha, very funny.”  When I don’t respond, he says, “You’re not joking.”  Then he raises his voice and calls out, “Jared, what the hell have you done?”_

_Above the sounds of the other people moving around in this strange place, I hear Sam’s voice.  “Nothing.  Why do you always automatically assume—”_

_“Because you’re an ass, and Misha’s always your target.  What did you give him this time?” Dean says as he turns me around.  I see Sam walking toward us.  He… he should not be capable of functioning.  It is good to see that his soul is intact, at least, in this universe._

_“Sam,” I breathe, unable to stop myself.  I start to take a step toward him, but Dean holds me in place._

_“Dude, I didn’t do anything to him.  Don’t always blame everything on me, Jensen,” Sam says._

_I look for Jensen and am shocked to hear Dean respond with, “Who else could it be, huh?  Mish doesn’t screw around like this because he actually likes going home at a decent hour.”_

_I remember that Sam had responded to “Jared” when Dean called him that.  This is becoming stranger and stranger.  I start to stretch my wings out and realize with a jolt that I can’t. I gasp and jerk away from Dean-Jensen, turning around as though it would help me find my wings._

_No—they’re not there.  What—how—this is impossible!_

Balthazar! _I call out._

_No response.  Not from any angels.  It’s completely silent when I search for my brothers and sisters.  But… but how…?  Have all angels been annihilated?  Have we all Fallen?_

_Then there are hands on my shoulders, and Dean’s green eyes are floating in front of my face.  “Mish?” he says, and I’m reminded that this might not even be Dean.  “Mish—hey.  You… you okay?”_

_I shake my head, unable to speak.  I can’t fly.  Am I still even an angel?  I feel my Grace pulse once, weakly, as though it is attempting to answer my own question._

_“Damn… he looks really spooked,” Sam-Jared says._

_“You swear this wasn’t—” Dean-Jensen begins._

_“Yeah, I swear,” Sam-Jared snaps._

_Dean-Jensen looks at him mistrustfully, and I flash back to the days when Sam was still drinking demon blood and keeping it a secret from Dean._

_“What, Jensen?” Sam-Jared says._

_“Nothing,” Dean-Jensen responds, shaking his head.  “Just get back in place.  I’ll take care of Misha.”_

_I take a deep breath to calm myself.  In this reality, I must be a human named Misha.  But… but then my Grace would be gone, wouldn’t it?  No.  No it wouldn’t, because I’m still an angel in true reality.  My powers must only be repressed here._

_“Thank you… Jensen,” I say hesitantly when “Jared” has gone.  “But I would like to leave.”_

_The man who look so much like Dean frowns at me.  “Leave?  You looked like you were about to have a panic attack, man.”_

_“I am fine now,” I respond before repeating my request—“I would like to leave.”_

_A small frown twists Jensen’s lips.  “We’re in the middle of shooting.  You can’t just leave.”_

_“Shooting…?” I ask, looking around.  There are no guns in sight, real or fake.  And he did not appear to be shooting before._

_Jensen looks at me as though I am crazy.  “Mish, what’s going on?  You definitely are not okay.  And… why are you still using your Cas voice?”_

_Then a large hand claps down on my shoulder from behind, and I jump, startled.  Jensen holds onto me, and I am surprised that even in this alternate reality, Dean’s doppelganger is looking after me._

_“What’s wrong?” the old man from before asks.  “And don’t tell me you forgot your lines, Misha.  I know you know them.”_

_Lines.  What lines?  I bite back the question and shake my head.  “I haven’t forgotten,” I respond._

_Pieces start falling together in my head.  These humans call me “Misha,” yet when I told “Jensen” that I was Castiel, he agreed.  Lines.  Shooting.  Recording devices.  A closer look at the bustling humans and false basement reveals to me that this is a set.  But… how… ?_

_I hear the name “Misha” again, this time in Dean’s voice, and I tune back in to the conversation._

_“—better if we do his scenes later, all right?” Jensen is saying._

_The old man—Phil—sighs and looks at me.  “Hey, you gonna do this or not?”  Before I can answer, he turns to address Dean—no, Jensen.  “He doesn’t look that sick to me.”_

_“I am fine,” I say._

_“Hey, I’m trying to get you off the hook, here.  A little appreciation?” Jensen says._

_“I apologize,” I answer.  “I am well enough to continue.”_

_Jensen and Phil exchange glances.  Then Phil nods and heads back toward the basement.  “All right, back to work!” he calls._

_Jensen looks down at me.  “You sure you’re okay?”_

_I nod and walk back to the fake panic room, entering and shutting the door behind me.  This is most certainly fake—Bobby’s iron door was much heavier.  This one appears to be made of wood._

_“Hey,” Sam—no, Jared—says.  “What did you tell Jensen?”_

_I shake my head.  “I said nothing.  I apologize for the confusion.”_

_Jared blinks at me, frowning, but then the word, “Action!” is shouted from outside, and I turn to face the closed door.  I push it open and step out.  Jensen is standing where Dean had been._

_“Well?” he prompts._

_I go with what my instinct is telling me.  “His soul is in place.”_

_“Is he ever gonna wake up?” Jensen asks, and I can’t believe it.  How can this be?_

_“I’m not a human doctor, Dean,” I answer, regurgitating what I said to him less than an hour ago._

_“Could you take a guess?”_

_“Okay.  Probably not.”_

_“Oh.  Well, don’t sugarcoat it,” he says sarcastically._

_“I’m sorry, Dean, but I warned you not to put that thing back inside him,” I recall._

_“Cut!” Phil shouts.  “Misha, a little more emotion?  Castiel’s supposed to be angry right now.  Frustrated, because Dean hasn’t been listening to him.”_

_This is too surreal, even for me.  I frown—I said the words just as I’d said them before, didn’t I?  But then I remember the surging sense of disapproval.  Sam hasn’t recovered.  This Jared isn’t really him.  Sam is still lying in the panic room—it is likely that he will continue to lie there for a very long time.  Maybe forever._

_“From the top?” Jensen asks._

_“Nah,” Phil says.  “Jensen, ‘don’t sugarcoat it.’”_

_A man steps forward with a strange board and calls out, “Act One, Scene One, Take four, Marker!”_

_Then Phil calls out, “Action!”_

_“Oh, well, don’t sugarcoat it,” Jensen says._

_“I’m sorry, Dean,” I reply, letting a bit of anger simmer to the surface, “but I warned you not to put that thing back inside him.”_

_“What was I supposed to do?  Let T-1000 walk around, hope he doesn’t open fire?” Dean responds._

_“Let me tell you what his soul felt like when I touched it.  Like it had been_ skinned alive _, Dean.”  I recall the searing pain in Sam’s soul, how even the lightest touch of my Grace was nearly unbearable to him.  My voice lowers by a fraction.  “If you wanted to kill your brother, you should have done it outright.”_

_Dean’s wide-eyed.  I do not recall him giving me that look.  And then I remember that this… this isn’t him._

_“And… cut!  Perfect, this time,” Phil says.  “Now let’s get Jensen’s coverage, and wrap this scene up.”_

_I watch as cameramen move around, and Jensen shifts to get comfortable.  The more I look at him, the more differences I notice between him and Dean.  Their physical appearances seem identical, but Jensen is much more relaxed.  A crew member says something to him that I don’t hear, and they share a laugh._

_Then everything is in position, and we speak some of our lines again.  I am instructed to leave the set, and then they film Jensen looking around as though trying to see if I reappeared in another part of the room.  I realize that these humans must create the illusion of my flight—my disappearance.  Interesting._

_But I must find my way back to my world.  I hope that the portal will still reach Balthazar even from this universe that contains no supernatural energy…_

* * *

Sam is charming.  Charming and… what’s the word?  Smooth, I think, is how to describe it.  I’ve no idea what we are impersonating this time, but Sam only had to say a few things to the man in charge, and we are now following him down the hall to see the bodies.

I’m afraid I will never be a proper hunter—lying comes so naturally to them.

We enter a room, and the man pulls out two bodies.  “You’ll be fine if I leave you here?” he asks.

“Yes, of course.  Thanks,” Sam says with another kind smile.

The man exits the room, and I move to the closer of the two, pulling back the white sheet until it rests around the dead man’s ankles.  Sam comes up to stand beside me as I catalogue the injuries.

First, I confirm that the heart is indeed missing.  The claw marks around the chest cavity certainly could have been left by a wolf.  There are also slash marks across the abdomen, arms, and legs.  One long gash mars the cheek of this man.

“I have not seen wolf victims before, but these wounds could be explained by one,” I say.  “Perhaps there is something in the room that invoked the spirit of Fenrir.”

Sam’s forehead wrinkles.  “You mean the Norse god?”

I nod as I move to look at the second body.  “The spirit of Fenrir would be able to cross through walls if it so wished.”

“And kill silently?” Sam asks.

“Certainly,” I reply, eyes skimming the body.

Slashes to the chest, heart gouged out, claw marks along the arms and legs—almost exactly the same wounds as the first.  I’m about to dismiss this body when I notice something different.  A rounded mark has been bored into his left shoulder.  I reach my finger into the hole and allow it to follow the wound into a slight curve.

“Cas?” Sam says from beside me.  “You find something?”

I withdraw my finger.  “I have found a difference between this body and the other.  The attacker wishes to frame this on a wolf, but it is something else.”

Sam frowns.  “What is it, then?”

“I am not certain, but it has talons.  It did not want us to know this, so it must be important.”

“Talons?  Hmm,” Sam says, looking closely at the puncture wound.  “So… so it’s a bird?”

I shake my head.  “No, because it still has regular claws as well.  It used those to rip the hearts out.”

“Right.  So… some animal version of a shapeshifter, maybe?” Sam ventures.

“That is one possibility, although it is uncommon for any kind of shapeshifter to take the shape of more than one animal species.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Sam agrees, and he frowns again. “What the hell…”

“We need to investigate further,” I say.

Before Sam can protest, I press two fingers to his forehead and carry him with me into the mansion, inside the room that contains the safe.

“Cas, Garth said—” Sam starts.

“We are cloaked,” I interrupt.  “Any video feed will not be able to capture us.”

Sam blinks a few times, looking at himself.  “So… no one can see us right now, except for us?”

“Yes.”

“And this is what you were doing when you spied on us.”

“Yes,” I respond—no point in denying it.

“And all angels can do it?”

“Yes, Sam.  Focus on the case.”

He sighs.  “Right.  So, hex bags?”

“I do not see any.  But something powerful was once here,” I respond.  I walked over to the safe and inspect it.  “I do not sense any protective spells.  A creature is guarding the safe.”

Sam frowns.  “So we oughta talk to Dean and Garth about the family.”

“They are downstairs,” I report.

“Wait—don’t, Cas,” Sam says.

“I was not about to interrupt them,” I say, pulling my hand back with a frown.  “I meant to take us back to the motel room to wait.”

“Oh. Okay, then.”

I fly us back to the motel, where Sam turns on his laptop and starts searching the internet for creatures that meet our criteria.  I am intrigued by this space that contains information—it is intangible and extensive.  Humans really are inventive.

Sam starts chuckling, and I frown, stepping closer to look at the small screen.

“What is it?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t get it.  Just…  a hippogriff.”  He lets out another laugh.

“I fail to see how that is humorous,” I say, thinking of the creature.  Part horse, part fowl… “Wait.”

Sam looks up from his computer screen.  “What, Cas?”

“The creature we are looking for is a species related to the hippogriff.  The griffin—a cross between lion and eagle.  It would have talons and claws consistent with the wounds that we observed.”

Sam frowns.  “Griffins are real?”

“Yes.  But they haven’t been seen for a very long time,” I say, frowning.  “We’d assumed they were hunted to extinction.”

“Okay, so you know what it might be.  Can you find it?” Sam asks.

I shake my head.  “They take the shape of humans to blend in—their disguises are good enough to fool anyone.”

“Okay, so why is an ancient mythical creature killing lawyers?  Why would it be guarding a will?”

“Griffins live to guard valuable things.  They typically travel in twos, but I sensed the presence of only one supernatural creature in that room.  Peculiar.”

“The other one maybe hasn’t shown itself yet,” Sam says.  “Or uh, maybe the other one died?”

“Unlikely.  Griffins…” I look at Sam.  “They are not unlike you and Dean.  One has a difficult time living without the other.”

“Okay, so I guess we should keep an eye out for two of them.”

“Yes.”

“Does it make sense for them to be guarding a will?” Sam asks.  “I mean, I know it’s valuable to the family, but otherwise I don’t think it would mean much.”

“That is true,” I say.  “The will has little value outside the family.”

“So uh… maybe Jonathan tied two griffins to him somehow?”  Sam frowns.  “It just doesn’t sound like it makes much sense.  Besides, griffins… there isn’t anything about them being able to walk through walls, is there?”

“No, they cannot become incorporeal—that is what necessitated their ability to disguise themselves as humans,” I say.

We are silent for a while, and I wonder when Dean will return.

“We should get the footage from their cameras,” Sam says.  “Maybe we’ll see something.”

“It’s not likely.”

“Do you think it could have been in the room already, just waiting?”

“I’m sure the lawyer would have noticed, had another human being been in the room.  Griffins cannot cloak themselves as angels do.”

“Well… is it possible that the mark from a talon was left there to confuse us?  I think the most reasonable explanation, taking everything into account, is probably Fenrir.”

“Yes, perhaps.”

“What, do you disagree?” Sam asks, looking up at me.

“I feel that a shrine to Fenrir would have been obvious to me, if it had been in the room.  But we are all fallible—I suppose I could have missed it.”

Sam nods.  “Yeah, no, it makes sense that you would’ve noticed.”

“There was a large window,” I recall.  “It is possible that the griffin flew into the room.”

“But without the lawyer noticing?”

I nod to concede his point.  It is unlikely that a human, no matter how unsuspecting, would not notice a lion-eagle hybrid flying toward the window.

As Sam turns back to his computer, I shut my eyes and allow the room to materialize behind my eyelids.  I catalog every detail, but still I sense nothing that would invoke any Norse god.  I don’t even know if Fenrir is alive—I know for a fact that Odin and Baldur were killed by Lucifer, but I do not recall hearing any news on Fenrir.

For now, all I can do is wait for Dean and Garth to return with more information.


	26. Saving People, Hunting Things

After about twenty minutes of silence, the motel room door swings open, and Dean walks in, followed by Garth.  He’s grinning.

“You two find anything?” he asks me and Sam.

Sam leans back in his chair.  “Maybe, yeah.  What’d you find out?”

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but Garth suddenly lets out a torrent of words that causes Sam and Dean to raise their eyebrows in a comical manner.

“The brothers aren’t all interested in the will.  Jeremy, brother numero uno—” his accent in Spanish is unsurprisingly horrific “—is completely uninterested in his inheritance and doesn’t mind if he never sees the will, because he doesn’t want anyone else to die.  I like Jeremy.  Dane, brother numero dos, is an ultra-bag of douche, and it’s a shame he’s not a spirit because I’d totally Garth his ass, any day.”

“Uh, Garth—” Dean tries to interject, but the small man only pauses for breath and continues, full speed.

“Dane wants the will, but more importantly, he wants the company.  So prime suspect is totally him.  And then there’s Morgan, the last little piggy.  He’s more like Jeremy, so I guess he’s okay.  He acted like a jerk, though.”

Sam’s face seems to be wavering between amusement and bewilderment.  “You done, man?”

“Oh, no.  Uh, there’s also the servants, Ayla and Leopold.  They didn’t talk much, but I bet Leopold steals silverware.”

Dean looks at Garth incredulously.  “ _Seriously?_ ”

“Yeah,” Garth responds earnestly.  “I could see it in his eyes.  I bet Ayla knows about it too, but she covers for him because she’s in love with him.”

“That’s uh… that’s great,” Sam says, and I can see that he’s trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, because we’re here to catch the culprit who keeps stealing butter knives,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.  “All right, important thing is, something’s up with Dane.  He didn’t wanna talk to us, but we overheard him telling his wife that he was gonna try opening the safe himself, tonight.”

“Oh,” Sam says, an excited gleam in his eye.

I feel that I’ve missed something.  “Oh?” I say.

Before Sam and Dean can speak, Garth blurts out, “Means we’re making a trip to Casa Schwarz tonight… undercover.”  He grins in a self-satisfied way.

“‘Kay, now tell us what you got.  What’re we dealing with here?” Dean asks.

Sam and I look at each other.

“There are two possibilities,” I say.  “Based on the wounds alone, I feel that we are dealing with a griffin.”

“A griffin?” Dean repeats, disbelief in his tone.

“Part eagle, part lion,” Garth says.  “I wanted one for a pet when I was a kid.”

“Of course you did,” Dean says.  “So why a griffin?”

“There was a small puncture wound on one of the bodies that was caused by a talon, not any form of claw found on a wolf or mammal,” I answer.

“Okay, but… do griffins also eat human hearts, then?” Dean asks.

“No, but they are intelligent beings.  It follows that they would want to frame the attacks on another species of creature,” I say.

“And the uh, the other possibility we were considering was the spirit of Fenrir,” Sam says.  “Because of the whole walking through walls thing.”

“I’m a little rusty on my Greek gods.  Remind me who that is?” Dean says.

“He’s a Norse god who takes the shape of a wolf.  I think Fenrir Greyback was a reference to him,” Garth says helpfully.

“Grey-who?” Dean says.

“Character in _Harry Potter_ ,” Sam mutters, shaking his head.  “Doesn’t matter.”

“You read _Harry Potter_?” Dean asks.

“It’s actually a very touching—” Garth starts.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Dean interrupts.  “Giant nerds.  Both of you.”

Sam clears his throat.  “Anyway, the problem is, Cas didn’t see anything that invoked the spirit of Fenrir.  So that’s why we’re considering both options.”

“Great,” Dean says.

“How will we do this?” I ask.

“We’ll tail Dane,” Dean says.

“Could you keep us hidden?” Sam asks me.

Dean looks between his brother and me with a frown.  “What’re you talking about?”

“We checked out the room with the safe in it,” Sam says.  “Cas was able to make it so that we couldn’t be seen.”

Dean looks at me.  “Did you?”

I nod.  “It will be difficult to keep so many under cover,” I say.  “Angels typically do not need to cloak their companions because they’re meant to be surrounded by those of their own kind.”

“But can you do it?” Dean asks.

I reach out and tap Sam’s shoulder, cloaking him.

“Hey—” Dean starts.

I repeat the motion on Garth as well, and it takes a little more effort to conceal him in the other plane.

“They uh… so they’re still here?” Dean says.

“Yes.”

I tap Dean’s shoulder last, and he vanishes.  It didn’t take as much of my strength as I thought it would, but I remember that I’m wielding the powers of an archangel—of course I’d be able to do this.

Finally, I join them in the other dimension.

“Holy crap, this is awesome,” Dean is saying.  He glances at me.  “Is this hard for you?”

“It is manageable,” I respond, a part of me remaining focused on keeping the three humans in this plane.  It’s certainly easier than spreading shields out to defend a few garrisons of angels.  Of course, complete concealment is more difficult than mere shielding—if this were not the case, it would be a simple matter for angels to defeat the hordes of demons from Hell.

“This is perfect, then,” Dean says.  “You can just shazam us into the room at nightfall, and we’ll wait for Dane to come in.”

“I don’t feel so good,” Garth declares.

Dean grins.  “Wait ‘til Cas mojos you someplace.  _That’s_ what I call disorienting.”

I shake my head.  “The disruption of your bowel movement was unfortunate, but I had lost power from the Host and… miscalculated.  It hasn’t happened since, has it?”

“Bowel movements?” Garth says, looking at me with wide eyes.

“No—don’t worry about it,” Sam says.  “Cas is all powered up, right?”

I nod and uncloak all of us.

“Oh, whoa,” Garth mutters.  “Dizzy!”

“Apologies.  I will take more care while flying with you,” I say.

“So what’re we gonna do from now ‘til then?” Sam says, glancing at the clock.  “We’ve got about… five hours to kill?”

Dean heads straight for the door.  “I say we start with food.  I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Sam says, following his brother.

I allow Garth to walk ahead of me.

“Just because you’ve got the stomach of a rabbit doesn’t mean everyone else does, Sammy,” Dean says.

Sam rolls his eyes but says nothing, and we all get into the sleek, black car.

As the engine starts up, I allow my eyes to slide unfocused, centering my concentration on Balthazar—it’s about time we got an update on the state of things at the capitol.

* * *

_I am sitting in a trailer, the door of which is labeled “Misha Collins.”_

_I tried the sigil multiple times just outside of the film studio.  Then I tried it again on the floor of the trailer, in permanent ink.  Nothing has been successful yet, and I am worried about being trapped here forever._

_Maybe the Winchesters will call for me.  Maybe Balthazar will arrive and tell them everything.  That I am lost to them, and they will have to struggle on without me.  Will they care?  With the way I left Dean, the way Sam’s life still hangs in the balance, they probably will not.  The thought stings me._

_Rachel will most certainly ask about me.  She will force Balthazar to tell her everything, because she has always had ways of getting the truth out of all of us—well, almost all.  She will be furious when Balthazar tells her that I died searching for a safe place to send the Winchesters.  I can already hear her frustration.  “Dean Winchester—why, why,_ why _must everything always be about Dean Winchester?!”_

_As I chuckle at this mental image, I hear a light knock on the door._

_“Mish, you in there?”_

_It’s Dean’s voice.  Jensen, then._

_“Yes,” I respond._

_There’s a long pause, and then he asks, “Well, you gonna let me in or what?”_

_I get to my feet, unlock the door, and pull it open._

_“Dude,” Jensen says with a frown.  “Costume is gonna be pissed.  Why are you still wearing all that?  You finished shooting hours ago.”_

_I look down at the clothing that I am still wearing and realize that if all of this is false, of course Misha Collins does not ordinarily walk around in my clothing._

_“I apologize,” I say._

_“Right…” he says.  “There’s been something off about you today.  I mean, why are you even still here?  We’re not shooting your other scene ‘til Wednesday.”_

_“I would like to return this clothing to the costume department.  Excuse me while I change,” I say._

_I close the door before he can protest, and though I know it is rude, I need time to think._

_I’ve had a few hours to look through this man’s things, but I am certain that I could not convincingly act the way he does.  I spent a few minutes searching this body for any other presence, but although I seem to sense someone else here, he does not respond to any amount of poking or prodding.  Wherever Misha Collins is in this mind, he is shut down tightly and not likely to be of any assistance to me._

_Then I notice a faint glow from the sigils that I had drawn on the ground of the trailer.  I instantly take a knee, pressing my hand to it to wait for Balthazar.  I need to leave this place.  It is not safe to place Sam and Dean here, not in a place where the delay between universes is so great.  I placed these sigils here about half an hour ago.  Has it really taken Balthazar until now to reach me?_

_Five minutes later, Jensen is pounding on the door.  “Mish?  You okay in there?” he shouts._

_I don’t respond.  The light is very bright now, and the portal is only moments away from opening.  I can almost feel a phantom hand wrapping around mine to pull me through._

_“Mish!  Open up!”_

_I hear him cursing under his breath and hope that Balthazar will pull me through in time.  There’s a loud bang against the door, and the trailer rocks back and forth.  Jensen is attempting to force his way in._

_But just as the door to the trailer flies off its hinges, Balthazar’s grip tightens around me, solid and sure, and I am drawn back to true reality._

_“Cas,” Balthazar says, relieved.  “I thought I wouldn’t find you this time, either.  I got your first four calls—why weren’t you there?”_

_“I apologize,” I say.  “I underestimated the amount of time it would take the message to reach you—I left each of those places before you could come to me.”_

_“So, not that one either, then,” Balthazar says._

_“No…” I begin, but my voice trails off._

_I’d just been concerned because all of the realities I had entered would leave Sam and Dean at the mercy of any angels Raphael chose to send through after them, because angels would always have more power than humans.  I remember the despair that washed through me when I realized that I was powerless._

_“Wait!” I say before Balthazar can wipe away the sigils that lead to that alternate universe.  “Wait… that reality might be acceptable.”_

_“Really?” he says._

_I nod.  “There was no magic.  Any angels that follow Sam and Dean through will not have any power.”_

_“Ah,” Balthazar says.  “So they’ll have even footing.”_

_I frown, because even after taking vessels, angels have great strength.  That strength will be muted by the strange lack of magic in that world, but some will remain, I’m sure.  All knowledge is retained as well._

_“Cas,” my brother says, pulling me out of my thoughts, “I think this is the best deal we can get for them.  Even footing against angels?  It’s as good as it gets for humans.”_

_“Yes, I suppose so,” I say resignedly.  I glance at the warehouse windows that are set high up on the walls and see that night has fallen here, as well.  It seems that time passes at the same rate in that reality and ours.  I dislike the delay in communication, however._

_“Let me guess.  You want to test this more than once.”_

_“Yes,” I say, glancing back at the door and wondering what Misha did after I left his body.  I cringe at the thought—I doubt he will remember my presence at all, and he will not understand why his costar just broke into his trailer._

_“What is it?” Balthazar asks._

_But as I am still figuring out the easiest way to explain everything, Gadreel calls._

Rachel has been struck—help!  Now!

_I meet Balthazar’s eyes just as they swing up to mine, and we both take off as fast as possible._

_Rachel has been invaluable to me during this war—while Gadreel will be able to take over for her, she is still more powerful as a tactician.  There is also the fact that we were garrisoned together for so many millennia._

_I can only hope we’re not too late._

* * *

“Are you _sure_ you heard that he was coming here tonight?” Sam asks.

It’s already four in the morning, but there’s been no sign of Dane Schwarz.

“Ask him,” Garth says.  “ _I_ didn’t hear it.”

“Yeah, thanks.  Push all the blame on me, why don’t ya,” Dean grumbles.  “And _yes_ , I heard him say tonight.”

Sam lets out a long sigh.

“There are still two hours left before sunrise,” I say.  “He still has time.”

“Do you think… is there any way he can sense us here?” Sam asks.

“No.  We checked,” Garth says.  “Dane’s a meanie, but he’s not supernatural.”

Dean looks at Garth.  “Meanie?” he says with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then.”

We fall silent.

A few minutes later, Garth begins to speak.  “So there was this one time—”

“No, not another story,” Sam interrupts.  “Just stop it.”

“But it’s so boring,” Garth protests.

Dean sighs.  “Maybe… maybe the dude chickened out?” he ventures a guess.

“Shh,” I say—I’ve just sensed something inhuman nearby, but it’s not in the room yet.

The three hunters look around warily, bracing themselves for what could be coming.  They all flinch when they hear floorboards creaking outside.

Then the door eases open, and Dane Schwarz enters the room.  He looks back and forth alertly and lets out a faint sigh of relief when he finds that the room appears to be empty.  Sam throws off the safety on his shotgun, Dean tightens his grip on the silver knife in his hand, and Garth unsheathes a… samurai sword.  The brothers stare at him for a moment before shrugging off their surprise and returning their attention to Dane.

The man approaches the safe confidently and leans over to fiddle with the combination lock.

A panel suddenly slides open to Garth’s left, and he leaps into the air with a shrill shriek, effectively breaking through the cloak I’ve placed on him.  Sam and Dean immediately dodge to their right, and a huge feline with large, feathery, grey-and-white wings emerges from the gap in the wall.  Dane turns away from the safe when he hears Garth’s scream, and his mouth falls open.

Sam shoots the griffin once in the shoulder, and it lets out a mighty roar.  Unable to see its attacker, the griffin lashes out at Garth, launching him into a cabinet before he can even turn his sword—which is clearly too long for him—to face the creature.  The impact jars the large piece of furniture, and a potted plant falls off, shattering on Garth’s head and instantly incapacitating him.

Dane cowers in the corner beside the safe, and when the griffin moves toward him, he lets out a frightened whimper.

“No, please no, don’t hurt me…”

Another salt round hits the creature, this time in its flank, and it whirls around, eyes flashing furiously.  Dean catches my eyes, then Sam’s, then mine again.  He lifts the silver blade in preparation.

Reading his intention, I lift the cloak away from Sam, revealing him to the griffin’s eyes.  The creature flaps its wings once and is at Sam’s side in an instant, rearing up to attack.  Dean doesn’t even wait to recover from the surprise, instinctively sheathing his knife in the griffin’s throat.  Its roar of pain is broken, subdued, and it tries in vain to attack Sam with its wings.

It collapses to the ground, and I uncloak myself and Dean as I approach to investigate.

“Is it dead?” Sam asks.

“Looks like,” Dean says, but they book turn to me for confirmation.

I place my hand on its head and close my eyes.  “The soul has departed,” I report.

“Awesome,” Dean says.

“Wha—what _was_ that?” Dane squeaks.

Sam and Dean exchange glances and ignore him, walking over to Garth and shaking his shoulder to rouse him.

“Cas, a little help here?” Dean says.

I walk toward them, but Garth sits up with a jolt before I can reach him.  A small mound of dirt is piled lopsidedly on his head.  He looks around alertly.  “What’d I miss?”

Dean just laughs.

* * *

_When I step through the door this time, I find myself in a narrow hallway.  It’s quiet, and when I check the room behind me, I see a bathroom.  Where am I?  This does not appear to be a set._

_I follow the hallway to its end, passing by a door on the right as I do so, and see that the hall opens into a living room.  Two couches form a right angle, and a large screen hangs on the wall opposite one of the couches.  The other couch faces a fireplace, where low flames are flickering.  A coffee table is framed by the two couches, vacant save for a vase of flowers._

_“Feelin’ better?”_

_I turn toward the sound of the voice and see Dean—Jensen coming toward me, one glass in each hand.  Each contains a small amount of amber liquid.  He offers one of the glasses to me and smiles when I take it from him.  But when I don’t answer, his smile fades, and he lifts his eyebrows._

_“Mish?”_

_I nod and move to one of the two couches to sit down.  He follows after a beat, settling in beside me._

_“Look, I know I’ve got no right to talk to you about… you know, about marriage.  I mean, I’ve only been married what, a few months?  You and Vic… you’re solid.”  After a pause, he adds, “Fuck, what am I even saying?  You know that better than anyone.”_

_I stare at the tongues of fire across from me and try to spread my wings.  I am satisfied when they don’t seem to be able to move.  So this is consistent—there just isn’t any magic in this reality._

_Then his shoulder bumps against mine.  “You uh, wanna talk about something else, then?”_

_“Like what?” I ask._

_“Like what happened yesterday,” he responds.  “You never told me what the doctors said.”  I don’t know what to say.  “You… you_ did _go in to see them today, didn’t you?” Jensen asks.  When I still don’t answer, he groans.  “Mish, you promised you’d go in.”_

_“I am… sorry.”_

_He shakes his head.  “Blacking out like that can’t be good.  Especially if you don’t remember taking anything.  Jared swears he didn’t prank you yesterday, and he usually owns up eventually.  Something’s wrong, man.”_

_“It’s possible,” I allow._

_“Dude, you’re using your Cas voice again,” Jensen realizes.  I open my mouth to speak, but suddenly Jensen’s turning to face me, setting his glass down on the table haphazardly before grasping my shoulders and turning me in his direction.  “Tell me what you’re thinking, Mish.  Now.  Right now.”_

_“I… don’t…”_

_He shakes his head, and anger settles in his gaze.  “Don’t lie to me,” he growls, and suddenly all I can hear and see is Dean.  His hands come up to grip my shoulders, almost painfully.  “Don’t fucking lie to me.  Not about this, not about_ anything _.  What are you thinking, Cas?”_

_“T—too much,” I whisper, the words slipping out of my mouth unbidden, forced out by the intensity of Dean’s gaze on me._

_His hands drop away from me as though burned.  “Mish… this better not be a joke.  This… this had better not be a joke.”_

_This is not going well.  My mind clears up a little when Jensen—damn it, this is Jensen, not Dean—turns away to grab his drink.  He downs it in one swallow and turns back to face me._

_“Fucking worst case of character bleed I’ve ever seen,” Jensen mutters under his breath, and I get the sense that he doesn’t expect me to hear it, because in the next moment he’s looking up at me and saying, “So, what?  Are you Cas, now?”_

_I do not know how to handle the situation.  I cannot escape by taking flight, as my wings don’t function in this reality.  And I cannot simply ask Balthazar to come for me, because it will take at least half an hour after drawing a sigil for him to reach through._

_What should I do?_


	27. Just to See You Smile

_“C’mon, work with me here,” Jensen says.  “Cas?”_

_“Hello,” I say hesitantly._

_“Hey.  Uh… you know you’re not talking to Dean, right?”_

_“Y—yes.”_

_He looks slightly relieved.  “So you still know I’m Jensen.”  I nod, and he says, “Great.  Um, I’m gonna go call… uh, Vic.  You uh, do you remember who that is?”_

_I shake my head.  “You mentioned ‘Vic’ in the context of marriage.  I imagine Vic is the spouse of Misha Collins.”_

_“Oh, Jesus.  You really think you’re Castiel,” he murmurs.  “So who—uh, I mean, you know I’m not Dean.  So how do you… how do you explain this?  Everything?”_

_“You are part of an alternate reality,” I answer, deciding on the truth.  It is much easier for me to operate when I am telling the truth, as I am not skilled in the art of deception.  “Balthazar has agreed to give me the weapons, but he will need time, so we are arranging a distraction to occupy Raphael’s attention.”_

_“Oh.  That’s actually… interesting.  I thought Balthazar was a dick who didn’t care about—”_

_“He is my friend,” I interrupt._

_“Right.”_

_I can tell from the look on his face that he’s already thinking about how best to handle the situation.  I reach a hand out to grasp his shoulder, getting his attention.  “Jensen.”_

_He looks a bit surprised when I say his name, but he looks at me attentively.  “Yeah,” he says._

_“Your friend is all right.  He is in here with me.  I have attempted to communicate with him, but it appears his consciousness is sealed away.  He will have no recollection of this conversation after I leave.”_

_Jensen nods with a sigh.  “Right.  Yeah.  Yeah, just like yesterday.  Okay.  Listen… Cas.”  He waits until I meet his eyes before continuing, “I’m gonna go make a phone call.  I’ll be right back—don’t go anywhere.  Okay?”_

_I nod, and he gets to his feet, watching me warily.  When I don’t move, he turns and leaves the room quickly.  I wait for about thirty seconds before standing, putting down my glass, and following silently.  For the first time, I note that I am dressed in dark sweatpants and a thin blue t-shirt.  The material feels considerably more comfortable against my skin than the attire I normally wear._

_I leave the living room the way that Jensen did and find myself in a wider hallway than the one leading to the bathroom.  Jensen’s voice filters into the space, and I pause to listen._

_“—don’t know what’s wrong,” he’s saying.  A pause.  Then, “No—no, no, he’s not high or anything.  I swear.  Vic, do you really think I’d be lying to you about this?  He’s not—I wouldn’t_ give _him anything!” he exclaims, suddenly sounding defensive.  Then, as though remembering that I am in the next room, he lowers his voice again.  “I just wanted to know if this is something that’s happened before.  Yeah.  No, I’ve never seen character bleeding like that.”_

_There’s a long pause, and I consider interrupting the call.  I won’t be coming back here again, after this second test.  There is no need, really, to disturb the balance of things here._

_“Christ, I don’t want him to end up fucking institutionalized either, Vic!  I_ know _he’s your husband, but he’s my friend too, and I’m allowed to care when shit happens to him, damn it!”_

_Institutionalized?  This may be a bit extreme._

_I step into the room, and Jensen jumps at the sight of me._

_“Uh, he’s here, Vic.  I’ll talk to you later—bye.”  He snaps his cell phone shut with a click and sighs.  “Cas, I thought I told you to stay—”_

_“Jensen, please do not worry about your friend’s sanity.  He is perfectly fine,” I say._

_Jensen gives me a pained look, one that looks almost identically like Dean’s.  “Of course he’s fine,” he concedes, but the tone of his voice reveals that he doesn’t believe this to be the truth at all._

_“I really am Castiel.  You must believe this.”_

_“Yeah, I do.”_

_“How can I prove it to you?” I ask._

_“You don’t have to, M—Cas.  I believe you, really.”_

_I look down at my body.  “I do not wish to cause trouble for your friend,” I say, lifting my hands to look at them.  “Please do not send him to an institution—he is sane.  He will merely have two gaps in his memory.”_

_Jensen smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.  “All right, come on.  Let’s go back and sit.”_

_I shake my head.  “You do not truly believe me,” I say, frowning.  I try to think of something that will remain constant no matter which universe I enter, something that won’t be different depending on which body I inhabit._

_“Yeah, I do, Cas.  Let’s go,” Jensen says, and he sounds more convincing this time._

_Then it occurs to me that the sigil I carved into my chest almost two years ago burned right into my Grace.  When I was resurrected, the scars remained.  This is something I can show him._

_As Jensen walks past me and toward the exit, I grasp his arm, holding him in place.  He backs up a step and turns to face me, a concerned question in his eyes._

_“Just look,” I say._

_Jensen grumbles something unintelligibly but obeys, and I pull Misha’s shirt up and off, letting it fall to the ground.  Jensen’s eyebrows raise up, almost amused, but then his eyes fall to the bared skin, and he sucks in a sharp breath, backing into the counter behind him._

_“That—that—that can’t be—are you fucking with me, Misha?”_

_“I am Castiel,” I say firmly, stepping forward._

_Jensen tries to back away, but he’s already pressed against the counter behind him.  I take hold of his wrist and slowly guide his hand toward the scar.  He grows more and more rigid, fighting me all the way, but it seems I’ve indeed retained some of my angelic strength because I am able to overpower him and press his fingers to my chest.  He gasps when his fingers brush the raised bumps of skin, and his eyes close instinctively._

_“Jensen,” I say, using my free hand to touch his shoulder in what I hope is a soothing manner.  “It is all right.  I will not harm you.”_

_His fingers are tracing the edges of the scar, and his breathing slows.  He opens his eyes to look at what he’s doing and says, “These… these aren’t fake.”_

_“No,” I say, shaking my head.  I release his wrist, sure that he won’t try to escape._

_“So you—you—you’re really—”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Oh, fuck.  Holy… holy shit.”  He shakes his head, pulls his hand back, and tries to lean farther away from me.  “This cannot be happening…”_

_“It is, Jensen.  Please stay calm.  I did not intend to alarm you.”_

_“How the hell am I supposed to stay calm?  You’re—if you’re_ real _, then does that mean everything else—”_

_“Yes, Jensen,” I say.  “It is not real in your universe, but my universe is very much real.”_

_All the air leaves his lungs suddenly as though he’s been punched, and I tighten my grip on his shoulder to steady him._

_“Why are you telling me this?” he asks._

_“For Misha Collins,” I say.  “I do not think he would appreciate being institutionalized due to my temporary stay in his body.”_

_“So… so Misha’s really in there somewhere.”_

_“Yes, but he remains unaware of the situation.”_

_Jensen takes a nervous breath.  “You uh, said you were looking for a safe place for Sam and Dean.  Does that mean that… that they’re gonna be droppin’ in here at some point?”  I nod.  Jensen swallows hard.  “And uh, what’s gonna happen to me when that happens?”_

_“I imagine Dean will borrow your body for a short length of time.  You will not be aware of this happening, but in the aftermath, if you have a lapse in memory, then you will know that Dean has been here.”_

_“Oh… okay.  So you… how long are you going to be here… Castiel?”_

_“I can leave now,” I reply.  “Could you give me a pen?”_

_Jensen nods warily, and I back away to let him move past me.  I follow him into the living room.  He opens a drawer from a cabinet that sits a few feet behind one of the couches.  I turn and draw the sigils on the wall before handing the pen back to him._

_“So you’re uh… fuck.  You’re a real angel,” Jensen says, shaking his head.  “Have you ever seen God?”_

_I shake my head.  “No, I have not.  He has never shown His face to me before, though I have heard His voice once, a long time ago.”_

_“What did He say?”_

_“Nothing of real consequence,” I reply._

_Jensen frowns at the marks on his wall.  “How long will this take?”_

_“Approximately thirty minutes.  I apologize for the delay.”_

_“No—no, it’s… fine,” Jensen says.  “Um, so is there really a war in Heaven, and all of that stuff on the show?”  I nod, and Jensen presses on.  “Where’ve you been, then?  All this time that Sam was calling you, or Dean was asking for you.  Where—”_

_“Do you really think Dean asked for me so much?  I would have gone to him in an instant if he’d called me himself,” I say.  “After all, when he called for me, did I not go to him?  I had one angel watching over him for the entire year that he was living at Lisa’s, fighting off all of the assassins Raphael sent his way.  I lost more than one angel to that cause alone.”_

_Jensen looks shocked.  “You… you what?”_

_“Raphael needed him to be Michael’s vessel.  He sent assassins to kill him and take his soul to Heaven.”_

_“And you… you never… why didn’t you tell him any of this?” Jensen asks.  I only shake my head.  “Seriously, Cas—why didn’t you say something?  I could’ve—” he shakes his head, irritated “—no, I mean Dean.  Dean could’ve helped.  He would have—”_

_“Dean cannot help me,” I say.  “The only being I trust to help me at all times is Balthazar.  He has died for me, as I have died for Dean.  I intimately understand that level of devotion.  Balthazar is the only one who would do it—who_ has _done it—for me.”_

_Jensen shakes his head again.  “I… I don’t know much about the real Dean, or anything, but… but I’ve been in the guy’s head for almost six years.  If everything on the show is right, I understand what he thinks of you.  And Cas, he would do it, too.  He would die for you.”_

_“Only out of a sense of obligation,” I say resignedly.  “And if Sam asked him to live, would he refuse?”_

_This silences Jensen, and I return to staring at the sigil, waiting for Balthazar to retrieve me.  The silence remains for a long time, and Jensen eventually retrieves his glass and pours himself another drink.  He offers me my untouched glass from before, but I reject it._

_Finally, the sigil begins to glow.  I reach up and place my hand on the center, waiting for Balthazar to take me back.  When I glance over my shoulder, I see Jensen staring at the mark in disbelief._

_“I can’t_ believe _this,” he mutters._

_“Take care, Jensen,” I say._

_“Uh, yeah.  Try not to get yourself killed, Cas.”_

_Then Balthazar’s pulling me through, and Jensen’s face fades away._

_“How was it?” my brother asks.  “Is this the one?”_

_I nod.  “This is a good place to send them.  Are you certain that Raphael will know how to follow them over?”_

_“Not quite certain,” Balthazar says.  “But we have the rule book, and he doesn’t.  I’ll pick a trickier one for him to try, yes?” he adds as he steps over to the desk.  “I’ll use an antiquated ritual to send them into this reality,” he says, tapping the symbol that is still on the door, “in time for Virgil to see it.  He will report back to Raphael, who will attempt the same method.”_

_“As for the distraction itself—”_

_“Oh, you let me worry about that part.  You just have to meet me at the right time and the right place.  I’ll take you to gather the weapons, I promise.”_

_“Thank you, Balthazar.”_

Castiel, um… _begins Sam’s voice, and Balthazar and I both listen in_ , I’m back.  So, if you got a minute…

_I nod at Balthazar and wait for him to nod back before taking off._

_“Sam,” I say.  “It’s so good to see you alive.”_

_“Yeah.  You too.”_

_I walk toward Sam, extending my arms to embrace him, but he backs out of reach, sitting down._

_“Um…” Sam says apologetically, “look, I—I would hug you, but—”_

_“—that would be awkward,” I finish for him, turning away as I realize what I’d been about to do._

_Foolish.  The Sam that willingly pulled me into his embrace was from an alternate reality, one in which they all were happily living in Heaven.  A reality in which I had already died.  Of course.  Humans would be willing to embrace an angel if he came back from the dead.  But no… not even.  For I have come back from the dead before and received no warm welcomes.  Perhaps only in alternate realities, angels can be shown compassion._

_“Um… so crazy year, huh?  I—I just talked to Bobby.  He—he told me everything that happened.”_

_“Frankly, I’m surprised that you survived,” I say, pushing my thoughts away.  True reality, after all, is not something that inhabitants of alternate reality will ever be able to truly estimate.  “I was begging Dean not to do it.”_

_“Yeah.  No I, I can understand that.”_

_“You know, it’s a miracle it didn’t kill you,” I say._

_“Yeah.  Yeah, it’s a miracle, all right,” he agrees._

_“So, how does it feel?” I ask._

_“What?”_

_“Well, to have your soul back, of course,” I say._

_“Right.  Y—you mean ‘cause I was walking around with no soul.  Uh—” he sighs “—really good, Cas.  I’m real good.  You know what?  I’m just hazy on a few of the details, though.  Um… you think maybe you could… walk me through?”_

_I nod.  “What do you need me to clarify?”_

* * *

“Hasta la vista, amigos,” Garth says, giving first Sam and then Dean a hug.

“Hey,” Dean says as Garth backs away from him, “don’t let yourself get knocked out so easy, all right?  I don’t know how you’re still alive.”

“Obviously, I got skills,” Garth says, turning to head for his car.

“You could uh… stay.  With us,” Sam offers.

Garth pauses beside his car and considers this for a moment before shaking his head.  “Nah, I work alone.  Well, I’m off now,” he says, pulling the driver’s door open.  “Places to see, people to interrogate, and ghosts to Garth.”

As he finishes speaking, he dons a pair of sunglasses and climbs into the car.

“You’re right,” Sam says to Dean as Garth starts the car and pulls out of his parking space.  “He _does_ grow on you.”

We watch him leave the parking lot and disappear around the corner before reentering the motel room.  The brothers spend a few minutes packing in comfortable silence before heading for the door.

Sam pulls it open and frowns—someone is standing in the doorway.

“Ayla,” Dean says when he sees the visitor.  “Hey.  Uh—”

“Shut up,” the woman says.  “May I come in?”

“Where’s Leopold?” Dean asks.  “Thought you two were inseparable.”

“Let me in, and I’ll explain everything to you.”

“Wait,” Sam says.  “Leopold and Ayla.”

“Yes, those are our names…”

“Ayla wouldn’t be short for _Aquila_ , would it?” Sam says, and suddenly it makes sense.

“What does that matter, Sam?” Dean asks with a frown.

“Leopold—leo, for lion.  Aquila is Latin for eagle.  Come on, man.  Lion, eagle, get it?”

“Oh…” Dean says.

“They’re mates,” Sam says.

“Mates?  No.  Leo was my little brother.  And you killed him.”

In the next instant, Dean’s wielding the same knife that had killed the griffin—Leopold—last night.

“So, what?  You here for revenge or something?” Sam asks, his voice steady even though he is unarmed.

“No,” I respond before Aquila can.  Her eyes finally land on me and widen slightly, as though she’s recognized what I am.  “No,” I continue, “she’s here to die.”

My statement apparently shocks Dean enough to make him loosen his grip on the blade.  Sam half-turns so that he can see both me and the potential threat.

“What’re you talkin’ about, Cas?” Dean asks.

“Let her come inside,” I say.

“Cas—” Dean begins to protest.

“She will not be able to hurt either of you.  I can ensure that,” I assert.

The brothers hesitantly step to either side, and Aquila enters the room.  Sam shuts the door.

“What… what are you?” she asks me.  “Surely not… not an angel?”

“I am.”

“I saw one of your brothers, many years ago.  He said that you would never again walk the earth.”

“Then he lied,” I say.

“Can one of you explain what’s going on?” Dean asks impatiently.

“Sam, do you remember what I told you about griffins?” I ask.

His forehead scrunches for a moment before he says, “ _Oh_.”

“What?  What, Sam?”

“Cas said that griffins usually showed up in pairs because they had a hard time living alone,” Sam says, looking at Aquila.  She nods, and Sam asks, “So you’re here to ask us to kill you?  Why can’t you just kill yourself, if you don’t wanna live anymore?”

“It is a violation against nature to end one’s own life prematurely.  We respect the laws of nature.”

“What, and asking to be killed isn’t a way of committing suicide?” Dean asks.

“It is a loophole,” Aquila says.  “I know you are hunters.  I _told_ Leo not to go last night.  But we had to protect Jonathan’s legacy.”

“He would’ve killed Jonathan’s son,” Sam says, frowning.  “How is that—”

Aquila’s eyes flash with anger.  “Dane Schwarz is a greedy, selfish man who wants to twist the terms of the will in his favor.  We did not want it to fall into his hands—the other two lawyers were hired by him, and Leo insisted on killing them because they’d been bribed to alter the will.  It’d be much better for Jeremy to take over.  He is a good man.”

“How did you and your brother become attached to the Schwarz family?” I ask, curious.

“One of Jonathan’s ancestors saved our lives by hiding us during the purge.”

“The purge?” Sam repeats.

“Yes.  Several thousand years ago, all the humans of this land—Native Americans—knew of supernatural creatures and hunted them.  When they first discovered our species, they were horrified that we could alter our appearances and take human form, so they hunted us mercilessly.  That was the purge.”

I remember watching humans from afar during this time period.  “Purge” is indeed a fitting word to describe what had happened.  Many supernatural species were nearly eliminated, but small populations managed to survive and evolve, eventually developing into their current forms.

“Schwarz isn’t a very Native American name,” Sam points out.

“The last descendant of our rescuer was a daughter who married into the Schwarz family four generations ago,” Aquila answers.

“Why are you telling us all this?” Dean asks.

Aquila looks sad.  “I am the last of our kind.  Whatever little impression I leave on you will be the final legacy of the griffins.”

“And you’re willing to just let the extinction of your species… happen?” Dean asks incredulously.

“Yes,” she replies steadily.

“Damn.”

“When I die, I will join my brother in Purgatory.  We will be together again.  We’ll be happy.  And I will see his smile again.”

“Purgatory is not like Heaven,” I say.  “I have not been there, but I’ve absorbed souls from that realm, and I’ve seen through their eyes.  It is chaos.”

“Yes, I know,” Aquila says.  “But I will find him.”  A small, wistful smile crosses her face, and she repeats, “We will be together again.”

Sam and Dean look at each other.

“Promise me you will never, ever kill yourself to find me, in Heaven or in Hell,” Dean says.

“Well what about you, Dean?  You got yourself sent to Hell to bring me back to—”

“Yeah, and it sucked,” Dean interrupts.  “I’m telling you, don’t do it.  Promise me.”

“Then you have to promise, too.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

They stare each other down silently.

“You two have a familial bond stronger than most humans,” Aquila calmly observes.

“They do,” I agree.

Then Aquila approaches Dean, eyes on the knife in his hand.  “I am ready to die,” she announces.

Dean’s hand clenches around the weapon, but he doesn’t move.

“Would it be easier for you if I changed form?” Aquila offers.

I walk over to stand at her side.  “Allow me,” I say, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She shudders slightly at the touch, possibly because she can sense the power coiled up in this frail human body, and turns to face me.  “Will it hurt?”

For some reason, it seems to me that I’ve answered this question for many different people.  “I can ensure that it won’t,” I respond, and she smiles.

As I will her life away, she whispers an almost inaudible “Thank you” before dropping to the ground.

“May you find your brother swiftly,” I murmur, looking down at her still figure.

It’s quiet for a moment.

Then Sam says, “We should go.  There’s still more than a day’s drive between here and Bobby’s.”

“Right.  Yeah,” Dean says, lifting his bag and turning to leave the room.

Sam follows, but I linger a moment longer.  An entire species has just gone extinct, by my hand.  Though she died willingly— _wanted_ to die, in fact—the guilt still weighs on me.  But as I leave the motel room, I see Dean teasing Sam lightheartedly while they load up the trunk, and I know it’s worth the guilt, as long as Dean isn’t the one who has to feel it.


	28. On the Corner of First and Amistad

_As I receive the last of Heaven’s lost weapons—the three nails used for the crucifixion of Christ—I follow Balthazar back through time to the present._

_“Raphael is on Earth,” Balthazar says, eyes wide._

_“Go to him.  Stall him—I will join you as soon as possible.”_

_Balthazar vanishes, and I move to Heaven.  Rachel is there to receive me when I arrive, but I spare no time for speech—Raphael cannot be allowed to return to Heaven while the weapons are exchanging hands, for then he will have a chance to steal them._

_“Castiel, how did you—”_

_“All will be explained shortly,” I respond before taking off back down toward Earth.  Though I know Balthazar is willing to die for me, for my cause, I do not wish to suffer watching my friend die again, this time for real._

_“You’ve made your last mistake,” Raphael says as I land silently.  Though I seem to have snuck up on Raphael perfectly well, Balthazar notes my presence—I can see it in his eyes._

_“Oh, I’ve got a few more up my sleeve,_ honey _,” he says._

_“Step away from him, Raphael,” I say, interrupting Raphael as he moves toward Balthazar.  “I have the weapons now.  Their power is with me.”  I spread my cloaked wings wide and call a flash of lightning to the sky to cast their shadows onto the wall behind me.  The size of them is proof enough to Raphael that I have gained strength._

_“Castiel,” he says in the voice of a female vessel._

_“If you don’t want to die tonight, back off.”_

_Predictably, Raphael departs—he always knew to pick his fights._

_“Well, Cas,” Balthazar says, “now that you have your sword, try not to die by it.”_

_With that, he flies away as well, and I wonder if that is the extent of his assistance to me—he has mysteriously managed to be occupied whenever I called to ask about fighting in battle.  But he did go to Rachel when help was needed, and from that I understand that he_ is _willing to fight.  And that is enough._

_“Cas, what the hell?” Sam says._

_I walk over to the brothers and bring them to Bobby’s house._

_“Wait, wait—you were in on this,_ using _us as a diversion?” Sam continues as I step away from them._

_“It was Balthazar’s plan,” I say.  It is true that he devised the initial plan, but we both worked on it together, so I add, “I would have done the same thing.”_

_“That’s not comforting, Cas,” Dean says._

_“When will I be able to make you understand?” I ask, turning to face them.  “If I lose against Raphael, we all lose.  Everything.”_

_“Yeah, Cas, we know the stakes.  That’s about all you’ve told us!” Dean exclaims._

_Our eyes meet.  He looks so… angry.  So unforgiving.  How can I tell him everything?  How can he accept everything?  Dean would never accept what I must do.  He thinks too much in blacks and whites.  I find myself staring into his eyes and wishing that the anger would suddenly fade away, that I would be faced with a laughing, smiling Jensen._

_I look away.  “I’m sorry about all this.  I’ll explain when I can.”_

* * *

I get out of the Impala feeling relaxed and content.  Sam and Dean have been bickering over something insignificant, as they always do, and for some strange reason, I find it reassuring.  And after spending an entire day cooped up in a metal box on wheels—I pause to imagine the offended look on Dean’s face if I were to verbally refer to his car in this way—it is nice to get out and stretch my legs.

After more than one road trip with the Winchesters, I have begun to find that traveling by car is not completely abhorrent.  I used to find it ridiculously slow and uncomfortably confining, but the slow pace is relaxing, and I enjoy watching Dean behind the wheel, because it makes him happy.

Lost in my thoughts, I don’t recognize the presence of another archangel until Sam and Dean have already opened up the door to the motel room.  The brothers stop short just inside the room, and I immediately snap to attention, sensing that Gabriel is inside, accompanied by an unfamiliar presence that can only be Kali.

The goddess steps forward, and Sam and Dean both stiffen.  She pauses in front of them and looks at them expectantly, and when her eyes slide to me, I realize that she’s waiting for them to step aside.

“What do you want with Cas?” Dean demands, noticing her intention at the same time that I do.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Kali says.  “I won’t eat him.”  She pushes the brothers out of her way and walks right up to me, evaluating me.  “So this is your little brother,” she says, clearly addressing Gabriel.

“Yep!” Gabriel confirms cheerfully.  “He’s got guts.  You’ll like him.”

“Hmm,” she purrs, “I think I already might.”

I fly away from her to land beside Sam and Dean instead, and she laughs.

“Are you afraid of me, Castiel?”

“Not afraid, just unwilling to stand so close to you,” I respond.

“Really?” she says.  “Well, I was thinking about helping, but if you’re so unwilling to be near me—”

“If you want to help, you will.  If not, then you won’t.  My reluctance to stand beside you is hardly a real factor in your decision-making process,” I say.

“When you said ‘fearless,’ I didn’t think you meant insolent,” Kali says to Gabriel.

“Insolence toward any sort of deity’s a type of fearlessness, don’t you think?” my brother answers.

“Or stupidity,” Kali says.

“But you’re here,” Sam says.  “You wouldn’t have come if you weren’t gonna help.”

“How do you know I’m not here just to visit?”

“Why the hell would you visit us?  It’s not as though we’re friends,” Sam reasons.

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Kali says, “All right, so I am here to help.  I don’t like to owe people any favors, and I owe my life to Gabriel.”

“Oh.  Great.  When can we get into Purgatory, then?” Dean asks.

“You two will be going nowhere,” Kali says.  “Human souls cannot enter Purgatory without being trapped there for eternity.”

“But… Cas, you’re not going alone, are you?” Dean asks.

“I do not know how the crossing must take place,” I respond, looking at Kali.

“I will not be returning to Purgatory,” she says.  “But Gabriel can travel with you.”

“No,” I say.  “If I leave, I want Gabriel to stay and—”

“Protect Sam and Dean, right?” Gabriel interrupts.  “They’ll be _fine_ , Cas.  You haven’t been to Purgatory before.  It’s not a cake-walk, you know.  All those souls will try to attack you.  I’m betting they’ll recognize you as the angel that swallowed them, and trust me, they won’t be happy about that.”

“I—”

“Gabe’s got a point,” Sam says.  “Besides, Dean and I know how to take care of ourselves.  We survived without any angels watching over us before.”

I consider calling for Balthazar, but he’s keeping an eye on Meg and Crowley.  So far, Meg has apparently been “all bark and no bite,” but Crowley thinks she could be biding her time.

“Cas,” Dean says.  “Just go with Gabriel, all right?  We’ve been hunting for years.  Like Sam said, we know how to look after ourselves.”

I turn to Kali.  “Where is the entrance?”

“It’s not a _place_ , Castiel.  I simply need to think about home in order to return.  And I suggest you take Gabriel’s offer—he knows where to find the Spider.”

I look at Sam, then at Dean.

“If it makes you feel better, Kali will stay with the boys,” Gabriel says.

“Oh, _will_ I?”

“You said you’d do me a favor to repay me for saving your life.”

“Yes, but I never agreed to be a wet nurse.”

“ _Dude_.  We don’t need looking after,” Dean insists.

Gabriel and Kali are staring intensely at each other, and I wonder if they have some form of pagan mind connection—I can’t sense any communication between them.  But of course, they _could_ just be glaring at each other.

Finally, Kali sighs.  “I will ensure that the Winchesters are alive when you return.”

I don’t trust her, but even as Dean opens his mouth to protest, Kali pushes her palm out at me and Gabriel, and I feel myself dragged into another plane.

The transition is tight, uncomfortable, but thankfully short.  The land around us is dark and barren.

“We gotta get moving,” Gabriel says before I’ve had more than a second to adjust.

“Do you know where we are?” I ask, following him as he breaks into a brisk walk.

“Yes.  It’ll take us at least forty minutes to reach her, and that’s if we _don’t_ get attacked, which we almost certainly will, at some point.  Anyway, we’d better hurry—time passes slower here than it does on Earth.  I already forgot the conversion factor, but it’s pretty big.”

I nod.  Then I try to spread my wings and find that I can’t.  Of _course_.  It’d be too easy if we could just fly there.  “Will we have to return here in order to leave?” I ask.

“Yes.  This is as far as Kali can reach into Purgatory, and it’s already pretty far in.  But the Spider, she’s very deep.  Pretty much as deep as you can be, in Purgatory.  She’s at the center of everything.”

“I haven’t seen any creatures yet,” I observe, casting my eyes about the barren landscape again.

Gabriel chuckles.  “They’re already watching us.  Trust me—I’ve spent long enough with the pagans to know.  In Purgatory, there are always eyes on you.  The only one who’s got the rights to a bit of privacy is the Spider.”

“I see.”

We fall silent, and the thought that unknown beings are watching us makes me uneasy.  For the first time, I begin to understand what Dean is talking about every time he claims that the undivided attention I fix on him is “creepy.”

“Do they recognize you as Loki?” I ask Gabriel.

As I ask the question, a group of souls appears over the horizon, in the shapes of all types of creatures—vampires, skinwalkers, djinn, and more.  We continue toward them without slowing our pace.

“I don’t know,” Gabriel responds.  “If they attack—”

Just as the words leave his mouth, the souls charge toward us.

Gabriel pauses momentarily to look at me.  “Looks like they don’t,” he comments.  “Then again, it could be because of you.  Either way… brace yourself.”

I nod, and we rush headlong into madness.

* * *

_I appear in a living room that I now recognize, in the exact same place where I’d been standing when I last left it.  But two sets of footfalls are coming toward me instead of one, and I decide to conceal myself.  I hurry down the hall and into a bedroom._

_“I just can’t believe they’re all dead, y’know?” Jensen is saying._

_Then I hear Sam-Jared respond, “Yeah.  No, I just… maybe they’re right to be suspicious.  I mean, both of us blanked out.  Who knows what—”_

_“They have it all on video, man,” Jensen says.  “That whackjob just came in and started blowing people’s heads off.”_

_“At this rate I’m gonna need another drink,” Jared says._

_“Nah, let’s not push things with Gen.  It’s all good between you and me now, but Gen still hates me.”_

_Jared huffs a surprised laugh.  “Yeah, I guess she does.”_

_“Want me to call Clif for you?  I’m sure he’s just hangin’ around waitin’ for us to finish up here.”_

_A long sigh.  “Yeah.  Thanks.  So uh, what are we gonna do now?”_

_“Hell, I don’t know.  Take some time off, get some therapy?”_

_This makes Jared laugh.  Then I hear Jensen speaking to Clif on the phone, and I look around the room.  A pen is sitting on the dresser, so I take it and draw the sigils for returning to my reality on the ground.  Perhaps I should not have come…_

_But Jensen’s smile left an impression on me, and I am unable to rid myself of it.  I just wish Dean would smile like that.  I wish he could live without the weight of the world on his shoulders.  I wish he wouldn’t blame himself for everything.  But then he wouldn’t be Dean anymore, would he?_

_I straighten and replace the pen where I’d found it.  Then I frown, noting that it’s silent outside the room.  Has Jared left, then?_

_About a minute later, the door opens, and the lights turn on.  Jensen leaps into the air and yelps in shock, slamming backwards into the wall of the hallway opposite his door._

_“Jensen—”_

_“_ Jesus! _You—you—oh fuck, I’m not_ nearly _drunk enough for this.”_

_“Please try to remain calm.”_

_“Remain calm?  Fuck that.  Tell me why Misha died.  Oh hell,_ please _tell me Dean didn’t do it.  Tell me he didn’t use my body to—to kill—”_

_“I imagine Virgil killed him,” I say.  “He may have chosen him because he has my likeness.  I apologize, Jensen.”_

_“So what?  Are you—” he pauses, looking like he might throw up, but then he starts over, “Are you wearing Misha’s dead body?”_

_“No.  This is my own form.”_

_Jensen takes a deep breath.  Then another.  “Uh, so.  What… what are you doing here?  Thought you said you wouldn’t be back.”_

_I suddenly feel foolish.  “I was… resting.”_

_“Mish—no, Cas.  Castiel.  Sorry.  I just—”_

_“You may refer to me however you wish.”_

_“Cas…?” he says hesitantly, and I nod.  “I can’t believe this,” he says, entering the bedroom cautiously.  “Mish has been one of my best friends for the past two years.  I never even… didn’t even get to see him before he… he…”_

_“Again, I apologize.  His death was partly my fault.”_

_Jensen shakes his head and crosses the room to look at me more closely.  “No,” he says after a moment.  “You really aren’t him.”_

_“No,” I agree._

_He hovers for a moment, clearly hesitating, before leaning forward and putting his arms around me.  I freeze, unsure what to do.  But then I lift my hands and pat his back a few times.  He draws back before I can do anything else._

_“Sorry,” he says.  “I probably shouldn’t have—”_

_“It is all right,” I interrupt._

_He chuckles, one of those carefree smiles on his face, and it’s amazing that humans can do this even while grieving close friends.  I memorize the smile, sure that I won’t see it from Dean unless I travel into his past._

_“You’re having problems with Dean, aren’t you?” he asks._

_I frown.  “How did you—”_

_“Script, remember?  I’ve still got a few.  I don’t know how accurate they are, but that one scene you shot… you knew the words.”_

_“Yes.  I’d spoken them before,” I say.  “You are correct.  Dean is angry with me.”_

_“Yeah, but only because you haven’t been telling him everything.  Dean’s… worried about you.”_

_“You don’t know that.”_

_“Yes, I do.  You have to know that it’s true.  You’re off fighting some Heavenly war, and he can do squat to help you.  He’s not happy about that.  The least you could do is tell him how it’s going, what’s happening,” Jensen says._

_“How would that help?  I would be worrying him needlessly.  Not to mention wasting my time.”_

_“Well, not that I don’t appreciate the visit, but wouldn’t this be considered a waste of time?” Jensen says, pointing back and forth between us._

_I have nothing to refute that._

_“I’ve got the scripts for the next two episodes, and I know you won’t say anything for a while,” Jensen continues.  “But seriously, talk to Dean.  Or start with Sam, if you have to.  He’s got his soul back, so he’ll help you.  Fuck, I can’t believe I’m giving_ advice _to a… a friggin’_ angel of the Lord _.”_

_“Yes, I understand that that can be bewildering.”_

_The sigil on the ground starts emitting a soft glow, and Jensen looks at me._

_“Time to go?”_

_“Soon, yes.  Balthazar has gotten faster,” I note._

_“You really won’t be coming back after this time, hmm?”_

_I nod.  “I shouldn’t place Balthazar in such a vulnerable position anymore.”_

_Jensen’s brow wrinkles.  “Why_ did _you come back?”  When I hesitate, he adds, “You might as well tell me, since we won’t be seeing each other again.”_

_“I came to see you smile.”_

_Jensen blinks once.  Twice.  “You’re… you’re kidding, right?”_

_“No.”_

_“But… but…”_

_“I have not seen Dean smile like that for over a year,” I say.  “I wish he could free himself of the guilt he always carries around.  Your smile can fool me for only a moment, but it’s long enough.”_

_The sigil is very bright now, but Jensen grasps my arm, stopping me before I can kneel._

_“Cas… you love him, don’t you?”  I shake my head, but Jensen just shakes his head with me.  “You’re in denial,” he says, a strangely awed look on his face.  “I… Goddamn, I never believed what all those fangirls said because I knew it was just Misha in front of me, but seeing you—the real Cas… damn.”_

_“Jensen, I must go.”_

_“Yeah,” he says, releasing me.  “Take care of yourself, Cas.”_

_“You too, Jensen.  You are a good man.”_

_I place my hand on the mark and glance back to catch another glimpse of him smiling, but a sad look is on his face.  But then he sees my eyes on him and smiles bracingly, reminding me that he knows why I came here._

_I return a grateful smile, and then Balthazar’s fingers close around mine, and the universe dissolves around me._

* * *

“Enough!” the voice of an old woman rasps forcefully.

Sudden, startled silence—the beasts attacking us have stopped.  They look back and forth amongst themselves for a few seconds before racing away.

“Well, that was kind of her,” Gabriel says as he turns toward the huge tangle of webs that we’ve been fighting to reach.

“Come in!” the voice calls, and it sounds less authoritative and more welcoming this time.

“After you,” Gabriel says, gesturing for me to enter.

I glance at him for a moment before stepping inside.  We follow a tunnel through the mesh of thick, interlocking strands.  At the end of the tunnel is a door, and I push it open without hesitation.

Waiting on the other side is an elderly woman, seated in a chair in an otherwise barren room.

“It is nice to see you again, Gabriel,” she says.

I stare at her face, looking at the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, across her forehead, by her mouth.  Her eyes are old.  _Very_ old.

Then I _know_ who she is.

“Castiel, my little one,” she says with a fond smile.

And my rage boils over.  “You!” I explode, alarmed by my own fury.  The old woman only blinks at me, but her calmness does nothing to soothe my anger.  “You’ve been here… the _whole_ time?  Spinning a _web?_   Is that all we are to you?  A web?  A _story?_   Little puppets in your hands, for you to toss around whenever you _feel_ like it?”

Gabriel grabs my arm, and I whip around to face him.

“Did you know about this?” I demand.

“About what?  I uh… I just want you to calm down a bit.  I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” Gabriel says, eyes wide in alarm, and I can see that the confusion on his face is genuine.

I turn back to face the so-called _Spider_ and fix an icy glare on Her.  “You’ll unmask yourself to me but not to him?” I say.  “He deserves the truth.  We _all_ deserve the truth, after what you did to us.  What you’re still doing.”

“Uh… Cas?” Gabriel says tentatively.

“Is that truly what you want?” She asks softly.  “Do you believe the truth will fix anything?”

“No,” I say.  “But it’ll help.  You can start with him.”

“Very well.  Gabriel, come to me.”

Gabriel stiffens beside me.  “What the hell is going on here?  I thought you didn’t know who the Spider was, Cas.”

“Trust me, Gabriel, as I trusted you,” She says.

Gabriel looks at me, but I make no response.  He very hesitantly moves toward Her, and She takes hold of his arm, pulling him closer.  Her hand brushes his cheek, and his eyes flutter shut.

“My Child, I open your eyes,” She murmurs.

Gabriel gasps and staggers back, staring wide-eyed at the figure of an old woman before us.

“I… I…” he gapes at Her for a moment, then glances back at me for confirmation.  I nod, and the anger that’s still burning within me finds its twin in Gabriel.  “How _dare_ you!” he roars, and the webbed walls around us shake under the power of his Voice, infused with his human one.  “I searched for centuries.  Centuries, and it turns out you…” he shakes his head, laughing humorlessly, “…you were one of the first people I met.”

“Gabriel, I—”

“How could you leave us with orders like that?  How could you stay away even as Michael threw Luci into the cage?  I begged for you to come back.  I _begged_.”

“My son, I never wanted—”

“No,” Gabriel says, shaking his head again.  “No, you’re no father of ours.  We have no father.”

“It had to be done,” She says, a note of pain in Her voice.  “You had to grow, to go on without guidance.”

“You could have _said_ something, instead of disappearing without a trace,” Gabriel snarls.

“And what of humanity?” I ask.  “As if you hadn’t done enough, you left them to be drawn into the war between Heaven and Hell, and now the Leviathans.  You… you _wove_ all of this.  You made it come true.”

“I may have influenced some events, but I let most of them unfold naturally.”

“You told the Leviathans that they would be freed,” I say.

“I did.  Because I caged them here against their will.  I should not have done so.”

“So you decided to allow them to run free on Earth?”

“Humans are resilient and more powerful than they seem—than they know.  You, of all creatures, should understand this,” She says, looking at me.

I think of Dean and Sam and all that they’ve suffered.  But just because they’ve lived through all of it doesn’t mean they deserved to.  Those two humans have endured far more pain than any living being should have to.

“Please, allow me to explain.  I do not have much time left.”

Gabriel and I exchange glances before looking back at Her.  With a small smile, God begins to tell a story— _the_ story. 


	29. Tale Older than Time

_The world freezes as the air conditioner comes down at Sam and Dean, and I suppose I won’t have to stop it from hitting them, after all._

_“Castiel.”_

_I turn to see one of the Fates approaching me.  “Atropos.  You look well.”_

_“I look like stomped-over crap, because of you,” she says vehemently._

_“All right, let’s talk about this,” I say, stepping toward her._

_“Talk?  About what?  Maybe about how you and those two circus clowns destroyed my work.  You_ ruined _my_ life _.”_

_“Let’s not get emotional.”_

_“Not get emotional?!” she cries.  “I had a job.  God gave me a job.  We all had a script.  I worked hard.  I was really, really good at what I did… until the day of the big prize fight.  And then what happens?  You throw out the book!”_

_“Well, I’m sorry.  But freedom is more preferable,” I say._

_“Freedom?  This is…_ chaos! _How is it better?  You know, I even went to Heaven just to ask what to do next—” and oh, I can already picture how that turned out “—and you know what?  No one would even_ talk _to me.”_

_“There are more pressing matters at hand.”_

_“But I don’t know what happens next.  I need to know—it’s what I_ do _.”_

_There was a period in time in which my thought processes were similar to hers.  But I understand now the flaw in this sort of close-minded thinking.  There is a bigger picture, and this limited mindset prevents us from seeing it._

_“I’m sorry,” I say, “but your services are no longer required.”_

_“You know what?  I’ve kept my mouth shut.  I could have complained, I could have raised a fuss, but I didn’t.  But you know what the last straw is?  Un-sinking the Titanic.  You changed the future.  You cannot change the past._ That _is going too far!”_

_“It’s Balthazar.  He’s erratic—”_

_“Bull crap,” she interrupts.  “This isn’t about some stupid movie.  He’s under_ your _orders._ You _sent him back to save that ship.”_

_“No I didn’t,” I deny, but it seems fruitless—she’s already onto the truth.  “Why would I?”_

_“Oh, maybe because you’re in the middle of a war, and you’re desperate?” she says.  When I don’t respond, she says, “Come on.  This is about the souls.”_

_“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

_“That angel went and created fifty thousand new souls for your war machine.”_

_“You’re confused.”_

_“No.  You can’t just mint money, Castiel.  It’s wrong.  It’s dangerous… and I won’t let you.”_

_“You don’t have a choice.”_

_She looks at me for a long moment.  “Maybe I don’t.  So here’s a choice for you.  If you don’t go back, and sink that boat, I’m gonna kill your two favorite pets,” she says, glancing at Sam and Dean._

_“I won’t let you.”_

_“Oh, yeah?  What are you gonna do?” she challenges._

_“Do you really want to test me?” I respond._

_I can see in her eyes the realization that I wouldn’t hesitate to kill her, if that’s what it would take to stop her from killing the Winchesters._

_“Okay.  Fine,” she says.  “But think about this—I’ve got two sisters out there.  They’re bigger, in every sense of the word.  Kill me—Sam and Dean are target one.  For simple vengeance.”  She pauses for a moment when I turn my head to look at the brothers, but then she continues, “You’re not… fighting a war or anything, right?  You can watch them every millisecond of every day.  Because maybe you’ve heard: fate strikes, when you least expect it.”_

_And then I sense a familiar presence sneaking toward my conversational partner from behind._

_“Balthazar, stop,” I say._

_Atropos spins around and sees Balthazar standing behind her, poised to strike._

_“Ah,” he says.  “Awkward.”_

_Atropos turns back to me.  “Set things right before I flick your precious boys off a cliff, just on principle.”_

_“Uh, sweetie, before we go, um, I could remove that stick—” Balthazar begins._

_“_ Don’t _try me,” she interrupts._

_“Oh.  We’ll leave it inserted, then,” he says.  He glances at me over Atropos’s head, and I give him a nod.  “All right, then.  Let’s sink the Titanic.”_

* * *

_I have lost the power to aid my soldiers against Raphael’s.  Even with the weapons of Heaven on our side, we will not be able to defeat Raphael without more power.  Balthazar’s plan to generate more souls was foiled, and now I don’t know what to do._

_I just need to keep my forces together until Crowley finds the way to Purgatory.  Once I am able to access all of those souls, Raphael will be outmatched.  I’ve already come so far—I cannot fail now.  Failure will lead to the Apocalypse.  I have to remember that that is what I’m fighting for.  I’m desperate for more strength, for the strength to protect my angels._

_There must be something else I can do, something that will help us survive just a little longer._

_My thoughts are interrupted by twin wing beats, and I turn around to face Gadreel and Eremiel as they land before me._

_“Rachel,” Gadreel says a little breathlessly.  “She was leading us in a battle, and suddenly Raphael’s forces grew stronger.  We’ve fallen back to a different realm, but we lost six brothers in a single minute.”_

_I look down.  No, Raphael’s forces didn’t grow stronger.  Ours grew weaker because my extra strength finally drained away.  This is my fault._

_“Is it possible for Raphael to do something like that?” Eremiel asks with a frown.  “How can he strengthen each angel in an entire garrison?”_

_“I believe it is possible—he is an archangel, with so much power at his disposal,” I say._

_“Do you think he is preparing to finish us off?” Gadreel asks._

_“Perhaps.  We must devise a strategy to hold on.”_

_“Why prolong the inevitable?” Gadreel says.  “If he’s going to win, he’s going to win, and nothing can save us.”_

_“Have faith,” I say._

_Gadreel gazes at me for a moment before giving me a fierce nod, but Eremiel is watching me with a questioning look in his eyes.  I wait for him to voice his insecurities, but he says nothing and lets his gaze drop to the floor beneath us._

_“Strategy, then,” Gadreel says.  “I can handle strategy.”_

_“Good.  Eremiel, do whatever you can to help.  I will search for a solution that can strengthen our forces.  I was brought back for a reason, and I believe this was it.”_

_“Good luck, then, Castiel,” Gadreel says before taking off._

_Eremiel follows without another word, and I wonder what he is thinking—he was always quiet, but never_ this _quiet._

_Then Balthazar lands beside me with a sigh.  “It’s not helpful.”_

_“What appears to be the problem?”_

_“The problem is that the souls will not stay in the present.  As soon as you want to start using one, it will revert to its original timeline and disappear.  I’ve gotten some to volunteer.  It doesn’t make a difference.  Neither does age,” Balthazar says._

_“So that’s another idea off the list,” I say with a frown._

_“I still say we kill the Fates.”_

_“Chaos would—”_

_“Oh Cas, please.  Those three ridiculous sisters made everyone’s lives miserable as it is.  It’s not as though they actually_ control _anything, anyway.  All goes according to ‘God’s plan,’ if He is really still out there.”_

_“You have become very cynical.”_

_“Oh yes, I thought you knew that already.”  When I don’t answer, Balthazar sighs.  “Look, Atropos is the easiest to find.  If we hold her hostage, Clotho and Lachesis will have to come.”_

_“No, Balthazar.  They still have important roles for humanity.  Who will decide when common people are born if Clotho is no longer there?  I doubt you would like to take that role from her.”_

_“So what if humans aren’t born for a few years?  It’ll be—”_

_“It is unprecedented.  We do not know what would happen if Clotho or Lachesis were to die.  Atropos is the only one we could kill with only slight consequences, but her sisters will not let us kill her without—”_

_“Then bring the boys to Heaven,” Balthazar says.  “Before you shoot me down—”_

_“No.”_

_“_ Let me finish _,” he says loudly.  I shake my head and open my mouth, but at the frustrated look on his face, I decide to show him some respect and close it again.  “Thank you,” he says, but it doesn’t sound sincere.  “I know Rachel’s suggested this before.  And she can’t have been the only one.  But if they’re in Heaven, they will be safer.  We’ll be able to watch over them easily, at all times.  What is so terrible about that?”_

_“They will be too close to Raphael,” I say.  “I won’t—”_

_“Then disguise them.  Hide their true natures.”_

_“I will not use the same dirty tricks that Zachariah used on them.  That was wrong.  He turned them into different people, Balthazar.”_

_“Only temporarily.”_

_“No.”_

_“But Cas—”_

_“I will not kill them, and I_ will not _take away their free will,” I say.  “Any further arguing on the matter will just be a waste of time.  Do you have any other ideas?”_

_“I’m plumb out,” Balthazar says angrily, “because you keep rejecting everything I think of!”_

_I grit my teeth and wonder when I picked up such a human habit.  “We have a problem.”_

_“Clearly.”_

_Ignoring his quip, I continue, “You don’t seem to understand the significance of the Winchesters.  Were it not for them, we would not be fighting this war.  They taught me about free will.  Your freedom that you enjoy so much is owed to them.  Do you not see that?”_

_“Yes, of course.  But that doesn’t mean we need to treat them like, like, like_ gods _, or better!  You’re being absolutely ridiculous, Cas.  If you really want me to stop suggesting to off the Winchesters, tell me the_ real _reason why you won’t allow anyone to hurt them.”_

_“That_ is _the reason.”_

_“That is_ a _reason.  Not the only one.  And certainly not the most important one,” Balthazar responds._

_I turn away.  “Enough.”_

_Balthazar shifts around so that he’s back in my line of sight.  “Is it that difficult to admit—and to me, of all people—that you’re in love with Dean Winchester?  And I hope you know that I’m not saying this as a joke.  Not today.”  I say nothing, and he sighs.  “I thought we were brothers.  I’ve told you everything about myself, always.  I thought you would do the same for me.”_

_“Dean Winchester to me is not necessarily what Leliel was to you,” I say, and Balthazar flinches at the use of his mate’s name._

_“You did that intentionally.  I knew you to be a little absentminded and clueless at times, but you were never intentionally cruel,” he says._

_“Cruel?  You think that is cruel?  Think of your own suggestions.  You seem to think that Dean Winchester means to me what Leliel meant to you.  Could you stand it if our brothers—and not only our other brothers, but myself included—continually suggested that we kill him?  Would you allow it to happen?”_

_“But… this is…” his voice fades._

_“Different?  Is it, really?” I challenge._

_There’s a long silence, and I hold his gaze, daring him to answer in the affirmative.  I know that he would have never stood by and let Leliel die.  I remember Balthazar had tried everything possible to bring him back.  He’d prayed to God, begged Michael, even gone to Chronos, the God of Time, to ask him to turn back the clock so he could save his beloved._

_No, Balthazar could not let him die.  I have won this argument._

_“So it’s true, then,” Balthazar finally says.  “You have fallen in love with a human.”_

_I keep my unblinking eyes fixed on him as I reply, “Yes.”  And as I say it, I know with every atom that composes my being that it’s true._

_“Cas… forgive me.”_

_I nod.  “This is between us.  Let the others speculate as much as they want.  Only you know the truth of me.”_

_Balthazar’s lips quirk up in a small smile.  “Yes, Cas, I know.  And you alone know all of me.”_

_I finally break our gaze.  “We must find another way to sustain our forces.”_

_“Yes,” my brother agrees.  “Would you like to look into alternate realities?  Perhaps we could steal souls from some of those.”_

_“I doubt that they could even exist in true reality.”_

_“But it is worth a try, yes?”_

_“I suppose so, yes.”_

_“I’ll collect what I need, then.  We’ll meet at the usual place?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Balthazar takes off with a smile, heading down for Earth.  But as he departs, my stomach rolls uncomfortably at the thought that I am still concealing the Purgatory deal from him.  I lied—no one knows all of me, except perhaps God.  But He continues to show indifference toward all of us, toward the fate of the world that He created._

_Will He ever return?  I wish He would._

* * *

“I was alone for… a long time.  Indeterminably long, because I had not yet created Time.  I began to create so that I would have companions.  And as soon as I started to create, another being appeared to me.  He had been alone as well, but when I created the first beast, he discovered my existence and came.  We had no names at the time, but this being would later become known to all as Death.

“He was fascinated by my ability to create, and we soon discovered that his talent lay in removing my creations from existence.  We experimented with souls, essences, creatures of all sorts.  I even created another with being the ability to create as I did, albeit to a smaller scale—she was called Eve.

“But the world grew too messy, and I worried that these creatures would destroy it all.  So I started fresh with a new world, one inaccessible to the old ones and the creatures of Eve.  Instead of beasts, I tried for something else, for beings that would love and obey me.”

“So, us,” Gabriel says.  He looks and sounds annoyed.

“Yes.  Michael was the first, and then Lucifer.  And then Raphael, and you.  But after creating you, Gabriel, I learned something.”

I shift closer, listening intently.  This is something that no one has ever been able to explain—the reason why God waited so long after creating the archangels to start creating the rest of us.  I glance at Gabriel and see that this is the first time he’s hearing it as well.

“I realized that one day, one of my own creations would bring about my death.”

“The silent day,” Gabriel murmurs.  “That’s what it was about, wasn’t it?”

“Death convinced me that I should continue to create regardless.  I made inanimate things, afraid of my own future.  I made the Earth, the mountains, water, sky.  The sun, moon, and billions of stars.”

“Why did you continue to create angels, then?” I ask.

“It… it might have been because of me,” Gabriel says, awe creeping into his voice.

God smiles, and I feel as though I am trespassing on a private moment, a shared memory.

“Yes,” God says.  “Gabriel grew bored, and his brothers tired of his tricks.  They needed more with which they could entertain themselves, and inanimate objects were not enough to satisfy them.  And so I began to create angels again.  All was well until… until you, Castiel.”

I look at him and wait, unsure of how I should respond.

“I created you, and in you, I saw my death.”

Gabriel stares at me with wide eyes, and I can only blink back in response.  How does one react to being named killer of God by God Himself?

“I instantly destroyed you, before you were even fully formed,” God continues, “but Death said that he could not take you—couldn’t even _touch_ you.  I should have known then that it was futile.  You returned to life by my own hands, and I whispered to you—”

“Little one, you are different.  And you are called Castiel,” I finish for Her—these are words I know too well.

She smiles sadly.  “Yes.  I told you this, hoping that you would deem yourself special.  I could not destroy you myself, and I thought it was because you’d not yet had a fair chance at life—the universe has rules that even I cannot bend.  So I hoped you would dissent, disobey, force the others’ hands against you.  But you did not.  You played the part of the perfect soldier, until Dean Winchester.  When you rebelled, I thought that I was saved.  That Raphael would destroy you, and that would be the end of it.  But when Death came to collect you, you did the impossible.”

“What did I do?” I ask when She falls silent, seemingly lost in Her memory.

“You fought him off, sent him away,” God says, looking at me.  “I had no choice but to restore you again, even though I’d already come here and assumed this identity.”

Gabriel is staring at me.  “ _You?_   Fought _Death?_   And… and _won?_ ”

“I… I do not remember any of that.”  I can hardly _believe_ it.  What… what am I, then?  Am I even an angel?  An angel shouldn’t be able to fight off Death.

“And you wouldn’t,” God says.  “At this point, I realized the truth and accepted my own future, that I would have to die.  So I altered fate and history and wove this web, and set about putting things right for my children.”

“Putting things _right?_   You allowed the Leviathans to roam the Earth!” Gabriel exclaims.

“Yes, because I took away their freedom.  I had to give it back.”

I take a deep breath that I don’t really need, trying to keep calm.  “How do I kill you?  Because at this point, that’s what I want to do to you.”

“Who ever said anything about killing?” God replies.  “No, Castiel, you will not _kill_ me.  But you will bring the death of me.”

“I do not understand,” I say, frowning.

Suddenly Gabriel says, “You can’t die.  We still have the Leviathans to worry about.  You were the one who set the events in motion to free them, so you could just as easily lock them right back up.  You’re _God_.”

At his words, I feel a faint tug on my Grace, as though it’s serving as a reminder of my purpose here.  Dean’s still out there, waiting for us to return.  As are Sam, Bobby, Kali, Balthazar, Crowley, and Meg.  So much is at stake.

“Yes, but that would make all of this futile,” God is saying.  “I do not make decisions lightly, and I would not go through the trouble of releasing them only to be persuaded to cage them again.”

“But—” Gabriel begins.

“Has it never occurred to you that _they_ are my children, too?” God asks sharply, and Gabriel shuts his mouth.

“Did you really grant them until the end of time?” I ask, remembering Griech’s words to me.

“Yes,” God says, a bit of regret in Her voice.  But She looks at me and says, “You know what must be done, don’t you?”

And I realize that I do.  I know exactly what must be done, and She knows that I know.

“You mustn’t wait too long,” She says.  “Once the first missiles are launched, fear and paranoia will pervade the Earth.  Starting a war is all too easy, but stopping one is far too difficult.”  She looks over at Gabriel.  “I am pleased that you chose to come and support your brother.  You have finally grown up.  And just in time for me to see it.”

Gabriel’s eyes widen a fraction.  “You… you don’t mean to say that it’s going to happen _now_ —”

Before he can finish asking his question, the answer presents itself.

“Hello, old friend.”

Gabriel and I turn to see Death standing behind us.  I look back in time to see the smile on God’s face.  It is not insincere.

“You’ve been absent a long time,” Death continues.

“You didn’t know where He was, either?” Gabriel asks.  “I thought… I thought you were lying.”

“I don’t lie.”  Then Death smiles.  “It is time for you to come with me, God.”

“Wait,” Gabriel says.  “He… We only just found Him.”  He turns to God.  “Why?  Why wouldn’t you show yourself to me when I saw you before?  I would’ve kept it secret if you asked it.  I searched for centuries, Father.”

“We don’t have time for your silly drama,” Death says coldly.

God raises a slim hand, and Death holds his tongue.

“Why could Castiel see you when even Death couldn’t?” Gabriel asks.

It’s a question that hadn’t even occurred to me yet.

Death sighs.  “Two minutes, old friend.  After that, no more.”

“Thank you.”

Death vanishes without warning, and God looks at Gabriel.

“I apologize, my child.  I took the coward’s way out.”

“Coward’s… what?  Explain,” Gabriel says.

“Your questions are related.  Castiel is the harbinger of my death.  I destroyed him instantly to keep him from seeing me because I knew—the day that he laid eyes on me would be the day I died.  Nothing could disguise me before his eyes.  I stayed in Heaven, hidden from all angels save the first four for this reason.  But I never felt safe.  It would take only one slip-up for him to accidentally see me.  I was not prepared to die.”

She turns to me, and I can’t tell what I see in Her eyes.  But I know for sure that there is no blame.

“I don’t understand,” I say.  “Why couldn’t you circumvent this?  You… you created everything.  Surely you could—”

“There are rules.  There is no such thing as _true_ immortality, not for any creature.  Not even God,” She says.

“What about Death?” Gabriel asks.

“Death is not like the rest of us.  He is not a living being—he cannot die because he is already dead.  Was when I first met him, and still is now.”

It’s a strange concept, but I can’t bring myself to care, at the moment.  “Why me?” I ask.

God shakes Her head.  “I don’t know, Castiel.  I cannot answer your question.  But Gabriel’s… his I can provide an answer for.  I stayed in disguise because I wanted no one to find me.  If I had opened your eyes then, Gabriel, I would have risked showing myself to anyone near enough to see.  And you would have tried to convince me to fix Heaven, to fix the conflict that I created there—because yes, I allowed Michael to strike down Lucifer.  It was necessary.”

Gabriel looks ready to argue, but God holds up a hand, silencing him.

“I do not have enough time for this,” She says.

God turns to me and gives me a small smile.  Then She holds out a fist, indicating with Her other hand that I should raise mine.  She opens Her fist, and a silvery orb floats down from Her palm to mine.  It rests lightly on my hand, but I feel unimaginable, immeasurable power pulsing within it, brushing feather-light against my Grace.

“Bring this to Michael,” She commands.  “He won’t be able to use it until the time is right—this much I have ensured.  I am proud of the way he’s grown, and of his decision to protect humanity.  I have no orders for him, only two requests: the first, that he find happiness again; the second, that he rule my kingdom well.  You may show him this memory as proof of the authenticity of my words.”

I nod, closing my fist dutifully around the silvery ball of light.

Already God is looking weaker, and Gabriel’s expression is pained.

“Father…” he murmurs.

“You were a good son.  A playful one.  The only one who came to find me, until Castiel,” God says softly.

Then Death is back, standing at God’s side.  “I really can’t give you much more time,” he says, but this time he looks apologetic.

“Just… a few last things,” God says before turning Her eyes back to me.

In them I see the weariness of billions upon billions of years, and I find myself thinking that perhaps God does need rest, after all.

“Castiel,” She says, Her Voice bleeding through, “You Should Have Happiness As Well.  Use My Strength To Finish It, Before You Pass It On To Michael.  With My Strength, He Shall Survive.”

I blink at God a few times, realizing that She is talking about Dean.  “You… you really did choose him, didn’t you?” I ask.

God smiles, and Light starts to shine through Her vessel.  I have never beheld a more spectacular sight.

“I Wish You Happy Lives.  Spread My Blessing To All My Children.”

“Enough,” Death says gently, as though God Himself is but a child.  “Come, now.  It is time.”

There is a burst of Light that hurts even my eyes, but I cannot look away from the incandescence, the… utterly indescribable sight before me.

And then it’s over.

When my eyes adjust, both figures are gone, and a lead weight drops into my chest as I look at Gabriel and see the truth reflected in his eyes.

God is dead.


	30. It's a Fool Who Plays It Cool

_Rachel frowns.  “You can’t possibly think that we can just take souls from another reality.  They can’t enter our reality.”_

_“Yes, yes, we saw that already,” Balthazar says._

_“We need more power,” I say.  “Raphael has grown stronger, and we must be able to match him.”_

_“Maybe we could all move into an alternate reality, hide out there for some time,” Gadreel says._

_I shake my head.  “That won’t do.  One angel would have to stay behind, and then all it would take for Raphael to win would be to kill the angel standing guard, and we would be stranded in that alternate reality for the rest of time.”_

_“Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.  A nice change, after all that’s happened here—I know I wouldn’t mind never coming back,” Gadreel says._

_“You don’t mean that,” Eremiel says._

_“Yes, I do.  This war is only getting harder to fight.  I apologize if I’m not absolutely thrilled at the prospect of dying infinite painful deaths by Raphael’s hands.”_

_“You won’t be the one punished with eternal torment, should we lose,” I say._

_Gadreel meets my eyes.  “That is why I haven’t left,” he says.  “I still have faith in God, and in you.  He brought you back for a purpose, so I will continue to follow you.”_

_Balthazar sighs.  “Oh, dear.  And I thought all the tiny-brained species had died away with the last stegosaurus, but look what we have here!  An angel with a walnut for a brain.”_

_“Faith is not an attribute of the weak-minded,” Gadreel says evenly._

_“Perhaps not, but it’s not an attribute of the strong-minded, either,” Balthazar responds._

_“Enough,” I say.  “It is good that you still have faith, Gadreel.”  I don’t bother to mention that I’ve already lost faith in our Father.  That I have more faith in Dean Winchester than I do in God._

_Just as I think of Dean, I hear his voice calling for me._ Castiel.  The uh, fate of the world is in the balance, so, come on down here.  Come on, Cas—

_And then Rachel’s hand is on my shoulder, blocking the rest of the prayer from me.  “You will not go to him,” she insists._

_“You cannot stop me,” I say._

_“I’ll take care of it,” she says before taking off._

_I start to follow, but Gadreel and Eremiel both reach out, each restraining one of my wings.  “What do you think you’re doing?” I demand, struggling against their holds._

_“Just for a moment,” Eremiel says.  “We all know you threatened Rachel, told her not to speak ill of Dean Winchester.  Interfering like this is surely worse, in your opinion, but we just want you to… to be merciful.”_

_“I_ am _merciful,” I say, breaking out of Gadreel’s grasp.  Eremiel’s grip on my wing tightens almost painfully, and I wince.  “I am not leaving to try to kill her.”_

_Then my other wing is free, and I see Eremiel glaring at Balthazar.  Following his line of sight, I observe that Balthazar is holding his blade to Eremiel’s side._

_“Balthazar, no,” I say._

_“He was hurting you.”_

_“Not intentionally,” Eremiel says, frowning at Balthazar and shoving his blade out of the way.  “I just didn’t want Castiel to leave before I was finished speaking.”_

_“Are you done now, then?” I ask._

_“Just don’t hurt Rachel,” he answers._

_“I won’t,” I say._

_I watch him for a moment to see if he’s going to stop me again before unfurling my wings and descending toward Earth._

_“…think you call him when you need something.  We’re fighting a war,” Rachel’s saying as I land cloaked in the room.  It becomes obvious that she’s very worked up, because she doesn’t even notice my arrival._

_“We get that,” Sam says._

_“Clearly, you don’t, or you wouldn’t call him every time you stub your toe, you petty, entitled little piece—”_

_“Rachel,” I say, entering their plane of existence.  “That’s enough.”_

_“I told you I’d take care of this,” she says._

_“It’s all right.  You can go.”_

_“You’re staying?” she asks disapprovingly._

_“Go.  I’ll come when I can.”_

_Rachel departs._ I hope you know what you’re doing, Castiel _, she snaps, for my ears only._

_“Wow.  Friend o’ yours?” Dean asks._

_“Yes.  She’s uh, my lieutenant.  She’s committed to the cause.  Now, what do you need?” I ask._

* * *

The return trip from Purgatory to Earth is just as unpleasant as the one that took us from Earth to Purgatory.  It’s lamentably longer as well, so I am immensely relieved when we solidify in Bobby’s study.

“Finally!” Dean barks, and he sounds so furious that even Gabriel has no witty quip.  “What the hell took you two so long?”

I open my mouth to explain the difference between time in Earth and Purgatory, but Dean just continues speaking.

“No, don’t answer that.  Just—fix Sam.”

He pushes past us and heads for the stairs.

Gabriel rolls his eyes at me.

“I’ll take care of Sam,” I say, glancing at Kali, who’s watching Gabriel expectantly.

My brother follows my gaze and says, “Right.  Shall we, Kali?”

“Wait—Gabriel, you aren’t going to disappear again, are you?” I ask.

He opens his mouth, and I can tell that he just barely stops himself from making a joke.  “Nah, little bro.  I’m sticking around.  Now that he’s… really gone, we’ll all need each other.”

“Well that’s awfully sentimental of you, Gabriel,” Kali comments.  “What did you find in Purgatory anyway?”

Dean reappears in the doorway.  “What the hell, Cas?”

I turn.  “Dean.  I apologize.”

This time Dean glares at me until I exit the room and does not relent until I move into the room Sam had claimed as his.  The giant in question is lying in bed, unconscious.

“What happened to him?” I ask.

“Some witch did a mind-whammy on him.  He’s been having nightmares every few hours, but he never wakes up.”

“A witch?”

“Yeah.”

I frown.  “I wanted you to stay at Bobby’s.  I thought you and Sam agreed while we were in the car—”

“Fix him first, Cas.  We can talk all you want after that.”

“As you wish.”

I turn toward Sam and place a hand on his forehead.  But I can’t access his mind.  It is as though a perfectly smooth, metal sphere is encasing his thoughts, without any weaknesses for me to exploit, cracks for me to widen.  It’s impenetrably thick.

I pull my hand back with a frown, and Dean looks even more worried than before.

“What’s wrong?” he asks when I don’t speak up immediately.

“I cannot gain access to his mind.  The spell is very clever.”

“No—no, you’re an archangel.  You’ve gotta be able to beat one friggin’ witch.”

“Where is the witch now?”

“Uh… Kali and I ganked her already.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, moving to the other side of Sam’s bed.  “Come on, Sammy, wake up!  I’m right here.”

“He cannot hear you.”

Dean looks up at me.  “Try again, Cas.  Sam’s stuck in his own head.  You’ve gotta get him out.”

“If it were just the spell, I would be able to do it,” I say.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s Sam.  He’s… fighting me.”

“What?  No, that’s impossible.”

“No witch can perfectly encase another’s mind without any seams, any chinks in the armor.  This is why her spell is clever.  It convinces Sam that any unfamiliar presence in his mind is unwanted, and when his willpower combines with the strength of the spell to keep me out, I cannot force my way in.  Not without hurting him, or potentially shredding his mind.”

“But… but you’re an archangel.”

“And even Lucifer needed permission from Sam in order to reach his deepest thoughts.”

Dean curses colorfully.

Then I hear someone calling me from… Heaven? _Castiel, Castiel, paging the archangel Castiel!_ I don’t understand why the voice is unrecognizable , as though it’s been disguised.

“Cas, you said ‘unfamiliar presence,’ right?”

“Yes,” I say absentmindedly—I’m still trying to identify the voice.

“God, I must be desperate to suggest this,” Dean mutters, “but could Balthazar do it?”

My full attention snaps back to Dean.  “Perhaps.  I will summon him now.”  _Balthazar!_ I call.

“So, uh, did you find the Spider?” Dean asks.

“Yes and no,” I say.

_Cas?_ Balthazar responds.

_Come now_ , I tell him.  _And bring Meg, if it is not yet safe to leave her and Crowley alone together._

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asks in the meantime.

“Balthazar is on his way,” I report.  And then that unidentifiable voice is calling again— _Paging the archangel Castiel.  Hello!  You hearing this?_

“Okay,” Dean is saying.  “What about the Spider?  You get anything on the Leviathans?”

_Calling the son of a bitch who burned Pam’s eyes out!_

“Yes,” I say, still slightly distracted.  “I learned a lot in Purgatory.”

Before Dean can open his mouth to ask what I learned, Balthazar and Meg arrive.

“Hello, boys,” Meg says.  She looks at me.  “Crowley wants to talk to you, but he’ll be busy for another… give or take ten minutes.”

Balthazar’s already standing at Sam’s bedside.  “What happened here?” he asks, frowning.

“Witch,” Dean answers.  “Cas says he can’t get into his head ‘cause Sam’s not familiar with him, so…”

Balthazar nods and leans over to touch two fingers to Sam’s forehead.  His eyes almost instantly slam shut, and he seems to flinch with his entire body.  Sam jolts a few times on the bed but remains unconscious, and Dean takes a step toward him.

I grasp his arm, holding him back.  “He’s in,” I say.  “Let him concentrate.”

_Castiel!  This isn’t funny anymore!  We need some help up here!_

I frown, watching as Balthazar begins to tremble.  This must have been a powerful witch.  But of course, Kali would have had no trouble destroying it—she _is_ the goddess of destruction.

“I need to return to Heaven,” I say, and Dean glances at me.

“When will you be back?  You haven’t explained anything yet.”

“I will as soon as possible.  If I cannot come, Gabriel will tell you everything.”

“Can you drop me off in DC while you’re at it?” Meg asks.  “I was actually doing something important when you made your darling brother fetch me.”

“No,” I say.  “I won’t leave you alone with Crowley.”

“So _protective_ of him.  If I didn’t know any better—”

“Enough, Meg.”

The demon is grinning.  “Mm, envy smells so delicious, doesn’t it?” she purrs, eyes flicking pointedly toward Dean.

He shakes his head.  “Go on, Cas.  Do what you gotta do.”

I shift to step in front of Dean and put a hand on his cheek.  He lifts his eyes to meet mine.  Meg makes a puking sound.

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean says.

Sam jerks and whimpers on the bed, and Dean’s head whips in that direction as Balthazar lets out a low grunt.

“You can’t do anything?” Dean asks, and the helplessness in his tone is almost more than I can take.

“I’m sorry, Dean.  It is up to them, now,” I say.  “I will return as soon as I can.”

I wait one beat, but he doesn’t look away from Sam.  Then I fly up toward Heaven, tracking the calls for me back to their source.  I’m mildly surprised when I land in front of Harvelle’s Roadhouse.

Ah.  Ash must have called me—I’m sure he can manipulate voices so that they are unrecognizable.

I enter the Roadhouse, and Ash says, “Finally!  Dude, we’ve been callin’ you for days.  Where’ve you been?”

“Busy.  What do you want?” I ask.  A woman’s soul steps forward, and I recognize her instantly.  “Pamela Barnes,” I say.

“That’s me,” she responds.

“Why have you called?”

“Wow, not even the slightest hint of an apology, hmm?” Pamela says.

“But you are not angry.”

She sighs.  “Not anymore, but you burned my eyes out, baby.  A little acknowledgement would be nice.”

Humans are ridiculous.  “I apologize, Pamela.”

She huffs.  “That’s more like it.”

“Now, why did you call for me?” I ask, looking at Ash.

“Uh… Jo and Ellen went missing.”

“Missing?”

“Yeah, I had them over a few days ago, just for a visit.  One second they were here.  The next—poof!  And I know it wasn’t an angel.  Believe me, I checked.  All the other angels have been able to tell me is that their souls are unharmed.”

At least they are not hurt—they should not be in danger.  “Do you have any idea what it was?” I ask.

Ash shakes his head.  “I didn’t even catch a foreign presence entering Heaven.”

That is troubling.

“He called me to see if I could get a sense of it, but the only thing I can pick up is a sense of… youth,” Pamela says.

“Youth,” I repeat with a frown.

“Yeah, youth.  I know it isn’t very helpful, but I’ve got nothing else.”

“I will find them and return them to Heaven,” I say.

“No—wait just a minute.  There’s someone else who wants to see you,” Ash says.

“I have other demands on my time,” I say.

“Yes, I know.  Just wait.”  He walks behind the bar and through a back door.

“How long will this take?” I ask Pamela.

She shrugs.  “With Ash, I can never tell.”

“He is a strange man.”

Then the door opens, and Ash returns, followed by… Jimmy Novak.

“Cas.”

“Jimmy,” I respond.

“It’s… so weird to talk to you, outside my head,” he says, chuckling.

“I am pleased to see that you are well.”

“Yeah.  Yeah.  I uh, thought that it’d be lonely up here, but it really isn’t.  How—how are Amelia and Claire?”

“I have not heard from them,” I say.  “I believe no news is good news, but I can check on them when I return to Earth, if you’d like.”

“That’d be great,” Jimmy says with a smile.

“I apologize for sending you here prematurely.”

“Forgiven.  I can wait for them to come to me.  Until then, I’ve got Ash and my memories to keep me company.”

Pamela punches his arm.  “And me, you ungrateful idiot.”

Jimmy laughs, and I am relieved that he is not unhappy with me.

“It was nice to see you, but I must go,” I say.

“Sounds about right,” Jimmy replies.  “Always gotta be out there savin’ the world, huh?  You should take a day off.  Relax.”

“I don’t have time for that,” I say.  “Goodbye, Ash.  Pamela.  Jimmy.”

I spiral down toward Earth a moment later and scan for Amelia Novak.

She’s back in Pontiac, Illinois, and Claire is with her—they’re sitting down at the table for lunch.  I’m surprised that she had the nerve to return to this house, even with the threat of demons.  And I’m thankful that no ill fate has befallen these two unfortunate people.

I say a silent prayer for them, but I know there is no one to heed it—God is dead, I remind myself.  The immense power coiled in that ball, folded within my Grace is evidence enough.

As I take off again, I remember that Crowley had wanted to speak to me.  I land in a presidential suite overlooking the Jefferson Memorial.

“Hello, Cas,” Crowley says.  “About time you turned up.  We’re in a sticky situation here.  Almost all of Congress is warming up to the idea of a preemptive nuclear strike, and—”

“Will it happen today?”

Crowley blinks.  “Pardon?”

“This ‘preemptive strike.’  Will it happen today?”

“No, but—”

“Then I have more important issues to address.  Do not interrupt me unless it’s urgent.”

“This is already getting urgent, Cas.”

“I believe the key word in that sentence was ‘getting.’  If that was all, I will leave now.”

“Well then.  Don’t let me stop you.”

I nod once and take off, arriving at Bobby’s less than three seconds later.

“Cas,” Dean says when I appear.

“Is Sam all right?” I ask, looking over at the bed.

Sam is sitting up now, and Balthazar has a hand on his shoulder.  “Fine now,” Sam says.  “Thanks.”

Balthazar subtly gives Sam’s shoulder a squeeze, but Sam shrugs the hand off.  The flicker of disappointment in Balthazar’s eyes is invisible to all in the room but me.  He glances at me and quickly looks away when he realizes that I’m watching.

_Brother, what is wrong?_ I ask.

He doesn’t respond, and this troubles me.  But he is not in any physical danger, and I still need to talk to Sam, Dean, and Bobby about all that transpired in Purgatory.  As well as the disappearance of the Harvelle women.

“We should go,” Meg says.  “Crowley is _so_ much more fun to annoy than Dean.”

I notice that she’s holding the demon knife and snatch it back from her.

“He stabbed my arm,” she says defensively, looking at Dean.  “I figured I should hang onto it.”

I pass the knife back to Dean.  “Balthazar, take Meg and go.  I appreciate your assistance.”  _We’ll talk later_ , I add silently.

I glance at Dean then, and he adds gruffly, “Yeah, thanks.  You’re still a dick, though.”

Balthazar grins at Dean before disappearing, and still he doesn’t answer me—this must be serious, then.  Meg vanishes as well, and I recall that she, like Crowley, has this ability.  Is it a skill that demons can _learn_ , then?

Sam gets to his feet and stretches.  “Dude, I feel so stiff.  How long have I been here?”

“Two days,” Dean says, glancing in my direction.

Sam looks at me.  “So uh, you’re back.  How was Purgatory?  Did you find the Spider?”

“I suggest that we go downstairs, so that Bobby will hear this as well,” I say.

“Yeah, all right,” Sam says, walking toward the door.

Dean grabs his arm.  “You sure you’re okay, man?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine.”

“Good.  Don’t scare me like that anymore,” Dean says.  He exits the room, and we hear his footsteps going down the stairs.

Sam just shakes his head.  “He acts like I got attacked on purpose.  Idiot.”

“That sort of idiocy appears to be an integral part of his character,” I point out.

Though Sam laughs, there appears to be some tension right around his eyes, and I’m not sure what to make of it.  I am not well-versed in the nuances and meanings of human expressions.  I consider asking him if something’s wrong, but he is already walking out the bedroom door, so I file the thoughts away for later.  Balthazar has spent some time in Sam’s head—perhaps he’ll be able to tell me what’s wrong with Dean’s brother.

I follow the Winchesters downstairs and begin to straighten out my thoughts in order to make this explanation as clear and succinct as possible.

* * *

_I land in a warehouse and look around, disoriented.  I was just in Egypt, contemplating the wards placed around a large pyramid, when the summoning spell took hold of me and brought me here._

_“We need to talk,” Rachel says._

_“You summoned me here?” I ask, turning to look at her._

_“Castiel, I’ve been hearing things.  Things I don’t want to believe.  Just tell me if it’s true.”_

_“If what’s true?”_

_“You know.  Your dirty little secret.”_

_I look away.  How did she find out?  I turn my head to face her again and say, “I have to defeat Raphael.”_

_“Not this way, Castiel,” she says, shaking her head._

_“Rachel.”_

_“We put our faith in you, and… look what you’re turning into.”_

_It’s Raphael or me.  “I don’t have a choice.”_

_“Then neither do I.”_

_She swings her blade at my head, and I reflexively lean back to dodge the blow.  Her arm swings back around, and she sinks the tip of her blade into my chest.  I manage to catch her arms and rip the blade out before it can penetrate too deeply, and I throw her back with a hard blow._

_Rachel crashes into some crates but recovers quickly, and I show my blade, prepared now to fight her off.  She is older than me, but I’ve always been able to defeat her.  The wound she left on me evens the playing field, but I still have a chance._

_I take a swing at her middle, and she dodges before aiming for my head.  I stop her arm with mine, and she pushes me in the direction that my momentum is going.  I end up on my hands and knees, and I jab once at her feet.  She leaps up and then steps on my blade, effectively disarming me.  Her fingers twist into my hair and pull my head up so that she can see my face, and I know she’s going in for the kill._

_I can do this._

_The blade swings at my chest, but just before it can strike, I twist my torso to the side, and the blade misses me by a hair.  I grip the blade to guide her momentum as I get back onto my feet.  One quick maneuver, and Rachel’s blade plunges into her own stomach._

_Shock barely even registers on her face, and I let her fall backwards to the ground.  There’s a sharp burst of light as her Grace burns, and then nothing.  I stare at the familiar wings burned into the ground and feel sick._

_“I’m sorry,” I murmur._

_Then I feel a stab of pain and look down to see my Grace glowing from the wound that Rachel dealt me.  I place my hand over it briefly, even though I know that human hands cannot do anything to help here.  I cannot draw on the power of Heaven to heal myself because that could raise questions, and I have already depleted all of the souls that Crowley gave me._

_The pain quickly becomes nearly unbearable, and I don’t know what to do about it._

_I remember that Sam and Dean are still somewhere out in the Old West—I’ll have to bring them back.  But with a wound like this, I doubt it’s possible.  I will not be strong enough.  And I would ask for help, except that that would also raise questions.  Balthazar would no-doubt question why I wasn’t doing it myself, as he knows that I do not trust others with the Winchesters.  Eremiel would do the same._

_I cannot give up so easily, I decide.  Dean needs me.  If Dean has need of me, then I will do all in my power to comply.  Many things have changed in the near two years that have passed since Lucifer’s return to Hell, but my devotion to Dean has not._

_When I unfurl my wings, I see two large tears in them, one on either side.  Exposing the wounds is excruciating, and I fight the urge to curl up into a ball._

_Dean.  I need to get back to Bobby’s so that I can find a way to bring Dean back.  And Sam._

_I close my eyes and give a few experimental flaps, crying out in pain as I do so.  I must be able to do this.  Another several flaps, and I take off.  The travel is torment, but it pays off—I soon land in Bobby’s kitchen._

_“What the hell is going on?!” Bobby exclaims, getting up from his desk and hurrying over.  “Cas?”_

_Breathing hard, I ignore him and crawl over to the refrigerator on hands and knees, reaching out to draw a sigil that will keep angels from seeing me here.  They couldn’t have watched the conversation or the fight in the warehouse—I know Rachel well enough to be sure that she would have wanted to have that conversation in private.  But with this sigil, no one will be able to trace me to this place._

_Then, using the refrigerator for support, I force myself back to my feet._

_“Cas?” Bobby’s saying.  “Are we running or fighting?”_

_I begin to respond, but then everything blurs, and my consciousness is snuffed out._


	31. Swallow the Fear, Like an Ice Cold Beer

With all the interruptions from my listeners, it ends up taking approximately forty minutes to relate my story about Purgatory, the Spider, and God.  I’ve had to reiterate parts that they didn’t understand, or just couldn’t believe.

“So, God is dead,” Dean says again.

“Yes.  I do not see why you are stuck on this point,” I say.

“Just—Death told me that he’d reap God, but I didn’t think it’d happen while I was still around to hear about it,” Dean says.

“Sounds like you’re right about how much our Bible gets wrong,” Sam says thoughtfully.  “None of any of that was in the Creation story.”

“What God told us was unknown to all.  It is best if my role remains obscure.”

The humans nod their agreement.

“So, this holy ball of God-light.  You have it on you?” Dean asks.

“Yes, but I cannot show it to you.  It is not meant for human eyes.”

“Can you use it to smoke the Leviathans?” Bobby asks.

I shake my head.  “Siphoning off the amount of power required for that would require taking the power of God into myself completely.  And we know how well that ended last time.”

“No, that was because the Purgatory souls poisoned you,” Sam says.

I frown.  “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.  Balthazar told me.”

“He was dead at the time.  I’d killed him.”

“He got the full scoop from Michael, remember?” Sam says.

“Dude, you had this nugget with you this whole time and didn’t think it’d be a good idea to share it?” Dean says.

“Well, we’d already suspected—” Sam begins.

“That he was drunk on _power_ , not _poisoned_ by souls,” Dean interrupts.

“What difference does that make?”

“It makes a huge difference,” Dean insists.

“Regardless, I have orders from God to pass this on to Michael,” I say.  “He will not be able to use these powers until the time is right.”

“Then how come you can use them?” Sam asks.

“He gave me permission to do one thing with this power.”

“What is it?” Bobby asks.

I look at Dean, and my fingers itch to touch his face.  “The bond,” I say.  “If you’d like it resolved, I can do it now.”

Sam and Bobby are also looking at Dean now.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he says, hand flexing at his side.  “Where’d you zap off to while Balthazar was fixing Sam’s head?”

“Dean—” Sam begins, but Dean gives him a look, and Sam stops speaking with a sigh.

“I was called to Heaven by Ash,” I say.

“What did he want?” Bobby asks.

“He said that Jo and Ellen have disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” Sam says worriedly.  “Why didn’t you start off with this, Cas?”

“I have priorities,” I say.  “And two souls missing from Heaven does not top the death of God.”

“But… but they were freaking kid— _soul_ napped from friggin’ Heaven!  Don’t you think we should find out how that happened?” Dean says.

A loud knock on the front door interrupts my response, and I frown.  “It’s… a dark presence,” I say.

“Leviathan?” Sam says.  He and Dean already have guns in their hands, and an instant later, Bobby’s armed as well.

The door slams open, and the humans tense.  Now that I can see him, it’s obvious that he’s a Leviathan, but there’s still something _different_ about him.  Was he… the first?

“Hello,” the man says with a huge smile.  “It’s so nice to see you—all of you.  A bit surprised to see you back, Bobby, but… well, I guess it’s nice, having an angel on your side.  Almost like playing a videogame with an infinite number of lives.”

“What do you want, Dick?” Sam asks.  Ah, Dick Roman.  Of course.

“What do I want?  Hmm, let’s see.  I want… to destroy your world.  Does that surprise you?”

“You will not succeed,” I say.

“Castiel,” he says.  “Boy, was I surprised to hear that _you_ were back in the game.  Still Daddy’s favorite, eh?”

“God did not bring me back,” I say.

“Oh, so you think _Michael_ did it.  You think an archangel, one with the same powers you’ve got, was able to create another of his own kind?  Foolish.  Naïve.”  He laughs.  “You’re all like whiny children.”

“Enough,” Bobby says, brandishing his gun at Dick.  “Just do what you came here to do and get the hell off my property.”

“Oh, come on, you know those won’t do anything to me.”

Bobby pulls the trigger, and Dick doesn’t bother to dodge.  I snap my fingers while the bullet is still in midair, and it transforms into a capsule containing borax.  It explodes upon contact, and Dick yelps in surprised pain when the chemical burns him.

Then he sneers at me.  “Child’s play,” he says as the burns on his body begin to heal.  “I’m not here today to kill you.  I’m here to deliver a personal message to all of you.”

“Then spit it out,” Dean says.

Dick’s eyes flick to Dean, and I take a tiny step to the side, placing myself between them.  The Leviathan looks at me, amused, but doesn’t comment.

“I know that you think you can stop our political agenda,” he says.  “And hey, maybe you will.  But just know this: even if you _do_ succeed, we can still turn the oceans red with the blood of near seven billion humans.  And if we decide on this course of action, there is nothing you can do to stop us.”

Dick suddenly extends a number of tentacles toward Sam, Dean, Bobby, and me to throw us backwards, but I flare my wings wide and brace myself, blocking him from the humans in my care.  The tentacles bore holes into my wings, but I hold steady.  He quirks a smile at me before backing out of the doorway and casually walking away.

“Arrogant son of a _bitch_ ,” Dean says.

None of the humans saw what passed between us, save the tiny smirk Dick sent in my direction.  I pull my wings back in, holding back the urge to shudder, and shut the door with a wave.  Then I focus on healing my wings.

“Well, looks like he knows we’re watching in DC,” Bobby says.  “I talked to some hunters, but I don’t think the plan for exposure to the supernatural is going to work.”

“I know,” I say.  “God provided a ritual that can send them all back to Purgatory.  It’s all in His infinite knowledge.”

“Oh.  Great—let’s do it, then,” Sam says.

“There’s gotta be a catch.  What’s the catch?” Dean asks.

“It only works if they have overstayed their term on Earth,” I say.

“Right, because God friggin’ _let_ them come here,” Dean mutters.

“So how long is this term?” Sam asks.

“Until the end of time.”

They stare at me.

“You uh… you’re joking, right, Cas?  Tell me you’re joking,” Dean says.

“I am not.  But there is a loophole that I intend to exploit,” I say.  My wings are mostly mended, but they still feel sore.  Those tentacles seem designed to burn right through us—especially our wings.

“What is it?” Sam asks.

“Chronos.”

“Chronos?” Dean says.

“The God of Time,” Sam says, eyes bright with excitement.  “That’s brilliant.  If we can just get him to… to _stop_ time, it’ll be the ‘end’ of time, and we can perform the ritual!”

I nod.  “Precisely.”

“Okay, great.  How do we find Chronos?” Dean asks.

“Of this I am unsure,” I say.  “But it is doable.  Balthazar found him once.  I’m sure we’ll be able to do it together.”

“Fantastic,” Bobby says.  “Now let’s find Jo and Ellen.”

There’s another knock on the door, and the humans groan.

“It is just a human,” I report, and they relax a little.

Bobby takes a few steps over and pulls the door open.  A middle-aged man with greying hair and a face that has aged beyond its years stands on the doorstep, bleeding heavily.

“Oh, Eddie,” Bobby is saying in a worried tone, “what the hell are you doing here?”

Eddie looks at Sam, Dean, and then me, frowning mistrustfully.  “I… was attacked.  Was comin’ to see if you were really alive, but the uh… Leviathans caught me.  They let me go, though.  Don’t know why.”

The man stumbles, and Bobby reaches out to catch him.  At the last second, I realize what’s wrong, why they would let Eddie go.

“Don’t touch him!” I bark, but Bobby’s already supporting Eddie’s weight.

“What?  What’s wrong?” Dean asks.

“It’s a virus.  Not harmful to humans, but to angels,” I say—the seemingly pointless visit from Dick Roman may have been orchestrated to distract me from noticing this.  “It’s transferred by touch.”

“What would it do to you?” Bobby asks.

“It would… my wings would become infected.  I would lose the ability to fly.”

“Okay, so no touching Bobby or Eddie,” Sam says.

“Panic room?” Dean suggests.

Bobby scowls for a moment, but then his eyes settle on me, and he sighs in resignation.  “Yeah, all right.  Come on, Eddie.”

They go toward the stairs to the basement, and Sam and Dean are careful to stay out of their way.

“How long will it last?” Sam asks.

“About two to three weeks,” I say.  “I’ll be able to see when it’s gone.”

“So… Jo and Ellen?”

“Guess we’ll have to go without Bobby on this one,” Dean says.

I nod and press my fingers to Sam and Dean’s foreheads, taking flight.  Despite the soreness in my wings, I have no trouble carrying them.  I’m thankful for the archangel powers that I retain, but Dick Roman’s words circle in my head.  If Michael wasn’t the one to bring me back… but there’s no one else.  This is troubling.

It takes approximately two minutes for me to locate their souls, on an island uninhabited by humans in the tropics.

“Where are we?” Sam asks when we land.

I summon their souls to me and feel resistance.  Then—

“Sam?  Dean?”

That’s Ellen’s voice, and we all turn to see her standing on the beach, hands on her hips.

“Cas,” she adds.  “What’re you all doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same,” I say.  “You disappeared from Heaven.”

Jo appears then, and with her is a small boy.

“Wait… Jesse?” Sam says, and I remember the demon-human hybrid child and grow wary.

“I remember you,” Jesse says, eyeing each of us in turn.  His eyes linger on me.  “How did you find me?”

“Cas brought us here,” Dean says, gesturing at me.  “You… did you take Jo and Ellen from Heaven?”

“I didn’t hurt anyone,” Jesse says.  “I just didn’t wanna be alone anymore.”

“We know, Jesse,” Ellen says soothingly, resting a hand on his head.

“They should be in Heaven,” I say.

“But I like them,” Jesse protests.

Jo laughs.  “We like you too, kid.  Look, guys, it’s fine.  We’re fine here.  Nobody lives on this island anyway.”

I shake my head.  “You must return to Heaven.”

Jesse looks troubled.  “What if I won’t let you take them?”

“It’s okay, Jesse,” Ellen says.  “Could he stay in Heaven with us?”

“If he wishes to reside in Heaven, we cannot force him to leave,” I respond.

“Then that’s perfect,” Sam says.  “Jesse, you okay with that?  Staying in Heaven with Jo and Ellen?”

Jesse looks back and forth between the Harvelle women and nods.  Then Sam and Dean are approaching Jo, Ellen, and Jesse.  Jo gives them each a hug, and I turn away to look at the ocean.

A moment later, Jo taps my arm.  “Hey,” she says with a smile.  I glance back at the others to see Sam and Dean both speaking to Ellen.  “Past few years have been pretty rough on you, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Bobby filled us in on everything when he came up.  Gosh, it was surprising to see him.  I thought he’d outlive all of us in that picture we took, ‘cept maybe you.  How’s he doing?”

“Well,” I respond, looking at Jo.

“And the fight?  How’s that going?”

“We have a strategy.”

Jo nods.  “Well… good luck.  I’m guessing there’s not really any way for us to help you.”

“No, not really.”

“ _No!_ ” Jesse suddenly shouts, and we both turn to look at him.  “No, no, I don’t wanna—”

“Shh, shh,” Ellen’s murmuring, squatting down beside him.  “It’s okay, Jesse, no one’s gonna make you hurt anyone.  Right, boys?” she adds, looking up sternly.

“Right,” Sam says.  Dean just nods.

Jo and I glance at each other and join the others.

“Jesse can take us back to where we oughta be,” Ellen says, and Jesse nods.

“I will fly Dean and Sam back to Bobby’s, and then I’ll check to make sure you’re all back in Heaven,” I say.

“What, don’t trust us?” Jo says in jest.

I smile.  “Absolutely not.”

“It was nice to see you, boys,” Ellen says.  “Say hi to Bobby for us.  And take care o’ yourselves, y’hear?”

“Yeah, Ellen,” Dean says.

“Bye, Jesse,” Sam says.

The boy nods and reaches out, taking Jo’s hand in his left and Ellen’s in his right.  The trio vanishes.

“Our turn,” I say.

A moment later, we’re back in Bobby’s study.

“So, now that Jo and Ellen are safe…” Sam says, looking between Dean and me meaningfully.

“I will verify their return to Heaven,” I say, turning to look out the window.  The sun is setting.

“And then you’ll come back,” Sam says.

It’s not really a question, but I feel the need to respond anyway.  “Yes,” I confirm.  “What did you say to anger Jesse?  It is not wise to be on his bad side.”

“Dean asked him to kill all the Leviathans,” Sam says.

“You said he could destroy Heaven with a thought,” Dean reasons.  “I figured he could give Dick a run for his money.”

“Perhaps.  But it is good that he refrains from using violence,” I say.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, nodding.

I glance at Dean.  “Have an answer for me when I return.  After I pass on the power of God, I won’t be able to do anything about the bond.”

Dean nods.  “Yeah, okay.”

Sam opens his mouth to say something, but I’ve already taken off.

God told me that I deserve happiness.  Dean would make me happy.  But he deserves his choice, too—I won’t repeat my mistake of making his choice for him, as I did after Sam tumbled into Hell with Lucifer.  I can only hope that the bond hasn’t altered Dean’s mental state too much.  If he chooses me, I want it to be genuine.

I ascend toward Heaven at a leisurely pace—Dean will need time to think.

* * *

_A blade plunges deep into my chest, and I feel the burn rapidly spreading through my body.  I look up into Rachel’s eyes and see only righteous anger as she yanks the blade out of me—_

_—and then I jolt upright, only to find myself at Bobby Singer’s house.  Recovering from the phantom pains in my chest leftover from the dream, I recall the events of the past several hours.  I do not know how long I was unconscious, but Rachel… what I did to her was necessary, but it pained me greatly._

_“Cas, you—you look like you went twelve rounds with a truckasaurus,” Bobby observes, and I don’t even bother to wonder what this strangely named creature is.  “What happened?”_

_“I was, uh…” I begin, unsure of how to relate what happened without giving away that I’m lying.  I cannot tell the truth at this point, cannot reveal anything about what I’ve been planning with Crowley.  “I was betrayed,” I decide, praying for forgiveness that God isn’t around to grant.  “Rachel, uh… Raphael.  He corrupted her—she turned on me.”_

_“Sorry.  Girl’s a real… peach.”_

_“She’s… dead.  I… was wounded.  I needed… safety.  Thank you.”  I make an attempt to get to my feet, but my legs won’t quite support me._

_Bobby puts a hand on my shoulder to keep me down.  “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.  What’s with the finger painting?”_

_“It’s a warding symbol against angels.”_

_“How bad’s it hurt?”_

_“I’ll heal.”_

_“Well, good… ‘Cause we got less than an hour before you pick up the kids at Frontierland.”_

_“I can’t,” I confess._

_“Come again?”_

_“This fight… drained me.”_

_“Well, if you’re up on blocks, then call in another halo who can get the job done.”_

_I consider calling for Balthazar, but I can’t afford to let him see me injured like this.  It would be too suspicious.  This puts Eremiel and Gadreel out of the question as well._

_“I can’t,” I say._

_“Well, there’s got to be something that can juice you up.  A spell—something.”_

_“There is one thing that might work, but… it’s extremely dangerous.”_

_“Shocker.  So, lay it on me.”_

_“It’s your soul,” I say reluctantly._

_“What do you want me to do?  Make another deal?  Seal it with a kiss?”_

_I feel disgusted by his reference to demonic deals—does he really think angels would make deals like that?  Then again, I remember that Balthazar had been buying souls before I stopped him, and I remind myself that times have changed._

_“I need you to let me touch it,” I say._

_“Touch it?”_

_“The human soul—it’s pure… energy.  If I can siphon some of that off, I, I might be able to bring Sam and Dean back.”_

_“And the catch is…?” Bobby says apprehensively._

_“Doing this is like… putting your hand in a nuclear reactor.  I have to do it_ very _gingerly.”_

_“Or?”_

_“Or you’ll explode,” I say, glancing to the side._

_“Well.  Keep both hands on the wheel,” he says, and I’m more surprised than I should be that he’s agreeing to it.  “Let’s do this.”_

_I shake my head.  “Not yet.  I can’t—not recovered enough yet.”_

_“Well you’d better recover quick, boy.  Clock’s tickin’.”_

_I nod wearily._

* * *

_“Are you sure?” I ask, looking down at Bobby in his seat._

_“Well, we can’t just strand those idjits in Deadwood, can we?”_

_“The risks…”_

_“Just… don’t explode me,” Bobby says.  He takes the belt and places it between his teeth, biting down to hold it in place._

_I lean forward slightly and brace my left hand on his shoulder.  Then, very,_ very _slowly, I press my hand into his body, reaching for his soul.  It’s clean, radiating energy, and I close my eyes to help with my focus.  Painstakingly slowly, I pull some of that power toward me, drawing it into my vessel._

_I become aware of the timer clicking down to the final seconds, and I reach back through the fabric of time and space, managing to grasp Sam and Dean just before time runs out._

_They arrive right beside me and Bobby.  Dean’s on his knees, holding an empty glass bottle, and I can’t help but feel the tiniest bit of relief that they haven’t gotten a hold of the substance that could kill Eve—Crowley needs to find and interrogate her in order for us to get into Purgatory._

_Then Sam and Dean proceed to relay the events that happened in the twenty-four hours they spent in Sunrise, Wyoming._

_“You gotta send us back,” Dean says at the end of the spiel._

_At this point, Bobby’s moved to the seat behind his desk, and I’ve dropped into the chair he vacated.  I can’t believe Dean would ask this of me.  Does he not notice what this trip has taken out of me?  But of course—Dean’s treated me differently all year.  What more can I expect from him?_

_Bitterness fills my mouth—I’m doing so much to ensure that all of his sacrifice will not have been in vain, yet he treats me like… like a tool.  Only thought of when it can be of use._

_“Dean, look at him,” Sam says.  “He’s fried.”_

_“I never want to do that again,” I intone._

_“Bobby, you—”_

_“I’m still kickin’, Annie Oakley.  Be back as good as new in… a decade or two,” Bobby grumbles._

_“And we screwed the pooch.  Bobby, I’m sorry,” Dean says.  No apology for me, of course—hammers don’t have feelings._

_Then there’s a knock on the door, and Sam, who’s closest, goes to answer it._

_I don’t really hear the conversation that goes on between him and the visitor, but he soon returns to the room with a package and sets it down on the table.  He opens it after only a moment of hesitation, and soon he is holding a letter._

_“Dear Sam,” he reads, “I got this address and date of your thing-a-ma-jig, and I thought the enclosed might come in handy.  Regards, Samuel Colt.”_

_And then Sam reaches down into the box and pulls out a bottle filled with a dark powdery substance._

_“Is that what I think it is?” Bobby says._

_“Ashes of a Phoenix,” Dean says.  “You know what this means?”_

_“Yeah, I didn’t get a ‘soulonoscopy’ for nothing,” Bobby says._

_If I weren’t so tired, I would tell Bobby that no such thing exists, but I can’t seem to summon the energy._

_“Yes.  And,” Dean says with a determined look in his eyes, “it means we take the fight to her.”_

_Damn._

* * *

I return to Bobby’s approximately an hour after leaving, having spent most of the time between searching for Chronos.  He is not in any of the places I’d suspected, so it is time to broaden the search.  I consider tapping into that reserve of pure power that’s sitting near the core of me, but I really, really shouldn’t.

“Cas,” Dean says, and I turn to see him stepping out onto the porch with me.

“Hello, Dean.”

He smiles bracingly.  “I uh, take it Jo and Ellen are fine?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good.”

He falls silent.

“Do you have an answer for me, Dean?” I ask after a moment.

“I… uh, come in.  Let’s do this inside,” he says, turning back toward the house.

I humor him and follow him inside.  But he doesn’t stop in the living room and moves up the stairs instead.  Less than a minute later, we’re in his bedroom.  He shuts the door after I enter.

“What is your verdict?” I ask.

Dean shakes his head.  “Cas, you can’t do this.  It’s not—you can’t leave the whole thing up to me.  I… I hate _talking_ about these things, but this… this is something we oughta… talk out.  And decide together.”

My brow furrows.  “You… wish to talk about this.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought my choice would already be obvious,” I say.

Dean raises his eyebrows.  “Uh, no.  Not really.”

“If it’s not already obvious to you, then it’s probably best if we sever this connection,” I say.  I’m only barely able to keep my voice from wavering, and my tenuous grasp on my own self-control is terrifying—it’s been some time since I was last alone in a room with him.

Dean hesitates, and I hold my palm out, summoning some power forth.  My hand begins to glow, and _need_ pulses in me, magnified by this new source of power.

“Cas, wait,” Dean says weakly, a hand covering his shoulder, as though he instinctively knows that no matter the choice, my hand will have to rest there.

“This is your choice, Dean,” I say, proud of myself for being able to maintain control.

He takes a step closer, and it instantly becomes more difficult to remember why it is important that Dean make this choice of his own free will.  His hands slowly close around my glowing palm, and I shudder at the warmth of his touch.

“I… I have to hear your choice, first,” he says.

And because I can never refuse this man, I meet his eyes and say, “I want you.”

A sharp intake of breath.  His eyes are slightly disbelieving, and I can’t stand it.

“After so much, how does this choice still surprise you, Dean?  Why can’t you accept that I… that I love you?”

“Cas…” he breathes, and I cannot decipher the look in his eyes.  Too much emotion is mixed in for me to comprehend, so I just wait for him to tell me.

“Yes or no, Dean?  Do you want this or not?”

He drops my hand, but even as the sting of rejection begins to seep in, his hands cup my face, and our lips crash together.  I stay still for a moment, too surprised to react.

Then instinct takes over, and it feels so _good_ to let go of some of that restraint.  With a thought, his jacket and shirt are off, and he only groans in approval as my hands travel up from his elbows toward his shoulders.

But before I can slot my right hand into place, I turn my head away.  “Dean, you have to be sure,” I say in a strained voice.

“I’m sure, I’m sure,” he mouths against my neck, hands tugging my shirt out of my pants and slipping under to roam over bare skin.

I press my hand into the print, and near-debilitating pleasure courses through me.  Dean’s knees buckle slightly, and he groans loudly.

“Holy _fuck_ , Cas.”

I support his weight and allow myself to fall backward onto the bed, pulling him on top of me.  He presses his lips against mine a few times, but when I tighten my grip, we both groan, and his forehead drops down against mine with a clunk.

“Ow,” he mutters, but I only register the slightest bit of pain.

“This,” I pant, “may burn a bit.”

He just nods, his lips still parted a little as waves of pleasure roll over him.  Careful to take this very, _very_ slowly, I allow my Grace to flow toward the surface of my palm.  Dean thrusts his hips down against mine in response, and I part my legs to let him fall between them.  I linger at this state for another moment before pressing farther, breaching Dean’s skin with my Grace.

Upon contact with my Grace, Dean cries out, eyes flying open in shocked pain.  I draw on the power of God to shroud Dean’s soul as much as I can, but though this will preserve his pristine soul, the bonding will still hurt him.

I lift my head and kiss his lips once, twice, three times.

“Dean, stay with me,” I whisper.

“Yeah.  Yeah, Cas,” he responds, eyes screwed shut.

I try my best to take it slow, but the rest of my Grace aches for contact, and it’s so difficult to restrain myself when every cell that comprises my being is yearning for more, for _Dean_.  I feed more of myself into him, and he winces at the dulled pain.

Then I grasp his hand.  “You must mark me.”

“I don’t… don’t know how,” he mumbles.  I’m not sure if he’s experiencing more pain or pleasure right now, or if it’s all just melded together into one convoluted sensation.

“Just place your hand on me,” I reply, removing my shirt, jacket, and coat with a thought.

Dean puts his palm on my shoulder, mirroring my hand on his, and I relax, finally letting my Grace flow freely.  Dean’s entire body becomes suffused with light, and suddenly I _feel_ him—his nervousness, giddiness, disbelief that _this is really happening_.

Then there’s a sharp burn on my own shoulder as his soul, entwined with my Grace, begins its entry into my vessel.  As soon as the skin is penetrated, Grace and soul flow into me in a quick rush—Dean has never had Grace and doesn’t know how to control the flow.

“Fuck,” he mutters.  “Fuck—Cas—I feel—I _feel_ —”

“I know, Dean.  I know,” I respond, feeding his soul back into his body through my right hand.

Wisps of my Grace leave me with him, and parts of him stay behind with me, filling in all the voids that I could never fill on my own.  I rein in God’s power, tucking it safely away, and Dean’s eyes flutter open.

“Cas…” he whispers, and I see him finally looking past my eyes, past this vessel, straight down into _me_.  The wonder in his eyes is unmistakable, and in a brief flash of blue, I see a part of myself looking out of his eyes.

I remove my hand from his shoulder, and he begins to protest, but then he realizes that this sense of wholeness and unity hasn’t changed at all with the loss of physical contact.  He smiles.

It is done.

I give him a gentle push, to get him off me, but he gathers my hands in his and pins them down on either side of my head, grinning.

“Where do you think you’re going, hmm?”

“The bond is complete.  I was going to continue the search for Chronos,” I say.

He shakes his head and leans down to kiss me.  “You’re not going anywhere, Cas.  Not tonight,” he murmurs against my lips.  And then I hear his thoughts, projected into my head.  _I’ve waited too damn long for this._

“It appears that completion of our bond hasn’t removed its carnal aspect, after all,” I observe.

“I’m still human, Cas.”

His kiss cuts off any response that I might have had, and I feel his desire thrumming through my veins, becoming my own.

The search can wait until tomorrow morning.


	32. To Live Is to Die

_The man—Jefferson Starship—groans as the silver knife carves into his face.  Then he laughs.  “You really think that’s gonna make me talk?” he says._

_“Something will,” Bobby says, clenching his hand around the knife handle._

_There’s the sound of a door opening, and I move out of the interrogation room to see Sam and Dean enter with two young boys.  I hardly spare a glance at them, instantly fixing my eyes on Dean._

_“Got a couple of hungry human boys here,” he says.  “C’mon, guys.”_

_Behind me, Bobby sinks the knife into the creature’s shoulder.  I watch as Sam and Dean sit the smaller of the two boys down on a stool._

_“So you two never heard ‘em talk… about a mother, or someone named Eve?” Sam asks them._

_“It was just me and Ryan in there,” the older boy says, shaking his head._

_“And your folks?” Dean asks._

_“Cops said we were next.  He said we were food,” the boy says._

_“You have any other family?”_

_“An uncle, in Merritt.”_

_“Merritt, what’s that, like fifteen miles outside of town?” Dean says.  What—he’s thinking about_ leaving? _And_ now _, of all times?  I start moving toward him.  “Okay.  We’ll get you there.”_

_“Dean, a word?” I say.  Dean turns toward me and gets to his feet.  I lead him away from Sam and the boys and say, “We need to find Eve now.”_

_“Yeah.  Go,” Dean says.  “Me and Sam just gotta make a milk run.”_

_“We need your help here.”_

_“Hold your water.  We’ll be back in a few,” he says, turning away._

_How can he disregard the mission so easily?  “Dean—Dean,” I say, and he turns back to face me.  “Millions of lives are at stake here, not just two.  Stay focused.”_

_“Are you kidding?”_

_“There’s a greater purpose here,” I say._

_“You know what, I—I’m getting a little sick and tired of greater purposes, okay?  I think what I’d like to do now is save a couple of kids.  If you don’t mind.”_

_I_ do _mind, but I say nothing.  His eyes are on mine, and I don’t bother to hide my disappointment._

_He drops his eyes as he tells me, “We’ll catch up.”  And then he turns to the others and says, “Okay guys, let’s go.  C’mon.”_

_Dean walks around the counter and over to the exit, holding the door open for the two boys and Sam.  As they walk through, Dean’s eyes come up to meet mine, and I see the unspoken sentiment in them, as though he’s challenging me to stop him.  Daring me.  I will not rise to his taunt._

_Then Sam walks through the doorway, and Dean blinks once before looking away and following Sam out.  I turn away and head back to join Bobby in the interrogation room._

_More proof that Dean and I are not as we once were.  He looks at me differently now than he used to.  There used to be trust.  Perhaps there wasn’t as much as he gave Sam, but that was to be expected.  I’ve always known that Dean puts Sam before all others.  But when he looked at me in the past, I used to feel a sense of camaraderie, something that seems to have gone—that last challenging look he gave me was filled with impatience.  Animosity.  Dislike, even._

_Have things degenerated to the point that Dean doesn’t even care about me anymore?  What is the point of doing all this if he doesn’t know any of it?  He doesn’t appreciate my efforts.  I thought that this would be fine with me.  I thought lack of acknowledgement would not matter._

_I was wrong._

_When he looks at me like… like just another person who could turn on him, it hurts.  I don’t know what to do with this hurt._

_Choosing to ensure the safety of two meaningless children is unfathomable to me.  I have been working for the sake of the world for far too long to understand how anyone could possibly place two human fledglings at higher priority than finding the Mother of All.  But Dean has always contradicted me.  If I didn’t know better, I would think that he was always contrary just for the sake of being contrary._

_“They won’t take long,” Bobby says from behind me._

_I blink and turn my head away from the window.  “You don’t know that,” I say.  Then I look back at the blinds—when did I move to the window, anyway?  “They may find more wayward orphans along the way.”_

_“Oh, don’t get cute.”_

_“Right,” I say, turning to face the old hunter.  “Pardon me for highlighting their crippling and dangerous empathetic response with ‘sarcasm.’  It was a bad idea, letting them go.”_

_“Come on.  You don’t_ let _Sam and Dean Winchester do squat.  They do what they gotta.  You know that.  Anyway, we want Eve, we need coordinates.  So we can stand here bellyaching, or we can go poke that pig ‘til he squeals.  Thoughts?”_

_I glance at Bobby, but the only thoughts that come to mind are memories of Dean Winchester’s term in Hell.  The torturing techniques that he learned from Alastair would probably be enough to break a creature of Purgatory._

_But that’s not what Bobby would like to hear.  Hell, I don’t even like the_ thought _of that.  The last thing I want is to see Dean back at work on any sort of a rack—I’d take up the knife myself before I let him stoop to that level again._

_I walk past Bobby to avoid his gaze.  Maybe this time, that is what I’ll have to do.  I remember Dean’s experience in the pit.  I know his techniques.  I just need to work up the nerve._

* * *

Watching Dean rest is ridiculously relaxing.  The slow, even rise and fall of his chest with each breath calms and soothes me.  I could be content with just this, for eternity.

I lift my head and take in the long, dark lashes resting on his cheeks, and then I trail my gaze down to that mark on his shoulder.  I brush it gently, and he shudders in his sleep.  There is a corresponding mark on my shoulder now, one that I haven’t allowed to heal because it represents Dean’s claim on me.

Briefly, I reach out with my thoughts, calling for Balthazar.

_What is it, Cas?_ he responds, and I decide that I should speak to him in person.

I press a kiss to Dean’s forehead before getting out of bed, clothing myself simultaneously.  Then I shift through space until I reach the same suite I’d entered yesterday to speak to Crowley.

“Hello, Cas,” Balthazar says.

“Where are Meg and Crowley?” I ask.  “And Bela?” I add as an afterthought.

“Meg is at a White House breakfast.  Bela’s with her.  Crowley is in the next room.  Shall I—”

“No.  I’d like to speak with you alone.”

“Very well—speak.”

I hesitate.  “Something happened yesterday.”

“Yes, something did.”

“Between you and Sam.”

He shakes his head.  “It’s nothing important.  Why are you here?”

“I’ve come to speak to you about this matter—nothing else.”

Balthazar frowns.  “Of all times for you to start noticing things,” he says with a sigh.

“Tell me, brother,” I say.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” he responds, and I recognize the look on his face.

The only other times he acted this way were when… “Leliel,” I murmur.

“What now?” Balthazar says.

He looks so nonchalant that if he told me he was fine, I would almost believe him.  “You’re being secretive,” I say.  “This has not happened often.”

“Secretive?” Balthazar repeats with an amused huff of laughter.  “And you think this has to do with… Leliel?”

He is so very convincing, but I see the truth in his eyes.  “Not quite,” I say.  “Your actions reminded me of the way you acted around him in the beginning, when he would not accept you.”  My brother’s cheeks take on the slightest hint of color, but he says nothing.  “Balthazar, you can tell me.”

“Cas, don’t—”

“When… when did it happen?” I ask.  “How long has this been going on?”

“Stop it.”

“Brother—”

“Castiel!”

I stare at Balthazar, surprised.  He does not raise his voice to me, and it has been a long time since he last used my true name.  “This is serious,” I murmur.

He doesn’t answer, turning away to look out the window.

“You spoke to me about such things before, when… when it was Leliel, when I didn’t even understand the feelings I was hearing about.  Speak to me, now.”

He says nothing.

“Very well.  I can still ask Sam—”

“Don’t.”

“Then tell me yourself.”

Balthazar turns to look at me, and though his expression is guarded, I can see his true sentiment around the edges.  He wishes to hide this new vulnerability, and I wonder how long this has been going on—I must have been too affected by my bond with Dean to notice.  He opens his mouth to speak, but then he shakes his head and closes it again.

“Who were you dining with when I found you in France?” I ask.

“Old friend.”

“Was it a date?  You never confirmed or denied.”

Balthazar sighs.  “Isn’t there anything else you could be doing?”

“There is always something else I could be doing.  I am choosing to be here with you, brother.”

“Yes, well, I’d appreciate it if you left me, for now.”

I suppose directness is the quickest approach I can take.  “Do you love him?”

There’s a moment of hesitation before Balthazar says, “No.”  But his hesitation has already given him away, and he knows it.

“Brother?” I say.

“Look at yourself and Dean.  It’s not possible, between a human and an angel.  Besides, I’ve already bonded once.  I can never do it again.”

“The bond is not prerequisite for a relationship,” I point out.

“But it signifies the possibility of a relationship.  Mortals and immortals are not meant to mix.  You and Dean Winchester are… anomalies.  You always have been.”  I open my mouth to speak, but Balthazar holds up a hand to stop me.  “Cas, I… appreciate your concern.  You must know I do.  But back off.  I’m done talking about this.”

“Is the problem on your side or his?” I ask.

“What part of ‘I’m done’ do you not understand?”

“I will not leave until you answer my question.”

Balthazar looks at me before turning away again.  “You stubborn bastard.  Fine.  He won’t have me.”

“It’s not that simple.”

He looks defeated.  “No, it’s not,” he admits.  “But it’s over.  It’s been over.  It was… it was over before it ever started.”

“But it’s clearly not over for you,” I say.

“Clearly,” Balthazar echoes, and a sound that was probably meant to be a laugh comes out of his mouth.  It sounds more like a sob to me, and I feel a strange pain in my chest—sympathy?  “Over or not, there’s nothing more to be done,” he says.  “Now are you satisfied?”

“My curiosity is satisfied, yes, but I… I am sorry, brother.”

“It’s not your fault,” he answers.

After a brief pause, I ask, “Could you tell me why he’s rejected you?”

Balthazar glances at me for a moment and then seems to decide that this isn’t worth fighting.  “The first thing he said was that he wasn’t gay.  The second—”

“But we have no gender,” I interrupt.

“Yes, of course.  I don’t need you to tell me that,” he snaps at me before continuing, “Then there was the mortal-immortal issue.  And the fact that Sam isn’t even sure of his own feelings.”

“The first two are trivial concerns,” I say.  “As for Sam’s feelings… I’m certain that he would never mislead you.  And ‘isn’t sure’ does not equate to rejection, Balthazar.”

“I know, Cas.  Believe me, I know.  Look… leave it alone.  All right?  I am fine.”

“You’re not—”

“I _will_ be fine, then,” he says impatiently.  “There are important things going on in Congress.  They’re gearing up to launch a missile at Russia.  There are some conservatives, led by Crowley’s Jimmy Roberts, that recognize this as an overreaction, but the political dance is nearing its end.  We need to act, and soon.”

I nod.  “There are just a few things I must take care of first,” I say.  “I’d like to explain everything to you, but I haven’t the time.  Contact Gabriel.  He was present for all that I experienced in Purgatory.”

“All right, then.  Where are you going to, now?”

“Hell.”

“What for?”

“I have a job to do.”

Balthazar frowns but chooses not to question me.  “I wish you luck, then, brother.”

“Thank you.”

I take off and spend a moment lingering in flight, just thinking.

It’s difficult to imagine any sort of a connection between Sam and Balthazar.  But there’s certainly been opportunity—they shared the space in Sam’s mind for quite some time.  And now that I think about it, Sam does share some traits with Leliel: steadfast determination, the ability to focus all his energy upon achieving a single goal, and some susceptibility to the temptation of power.

But this is where they contrast sharply.  Sam gave in to the lure of demon blood, but he was not consumed by it—he endured and remains himself to this day.  Leliel, however, surrendered to the call of the Morning Star, and none of us could keep him from going.

I still remember the pained expression on Balthazar’s face— _don’t do this, please don’t do this_ —and the pleading tone in Leliel’s voice— _just come with me, love; we’ll be together forever_.  It surprises me, even more now than before, that Balthazar was able to resist that plea, because I have experienced the strength of a bond myself.  I now know how difficult separation can be, and the threat of eternal separation sounds like it’d be too much to bear.

I consider going to speak to Sam.  They may never be able to bond, but as I said, it is not required for a relationship—numerous angels have chosen to be intimate without taking this step, without claiming each other.  But Balthazar would not want me to ask Sam about this, and I will respect his wishes.

It is time to get to work.  I have a body to retrieve and a soul to raise.

Tapping just slightly into my borrowed power, the trip to the cage takes hardly any time at all.  It is still so, so cold, but the low temperature is the only proof of Lucifer’s presence—he is nowhere to be seen.  Adam’s body remains on the ground, mangled.

I pull upon the power of the Lord, summoning Adam’s soul back from the farthest reaches of the universe.

“Stop, Castiel,” Death says, appearing beside me.  “You don’t want to go too far.”

“This is within limits.”

“Barely.”

“Then I can do it.”

“I don’t think you understand the consequences of usurping God’s power when it is not intended for you.  This will not end well for you, if you go too far.”

I close my eyes and concentrate on Adam.  “I won’t go too far.”

“This is foolish.  This human holds no meaning to you.”

“He does to Dean.”

“You would risk everything for him.  Of course.  He is only one human, Castiel.  If you take this power, all could be destroyed.”

“Stop me, then,” I say.  Adam’s soul is already coming to me, obeying my call slowly but surely.

“Stop you,” Death says softly.  Then he laughs.  “I can’t.  Not when you have that sort of power at your disposal.”

“Then it appears you’ll just have to trust me, won’t you?”

Death heaves a sigh but says no more.

When I glance to my right, I see that he has vanished.  I spare a moment to think about what he said, and then a human soul bursts into existence in my hands.  Alarmed and disoriented, it lashes out at me, but I soothe it and hold it in my left hand, summoning Adam’s broken body with my right.  Using these powers, it is easy to get him out of the cage without even opening it.

I kneel down beside Adam and stare at his body for a long moment.  His head is twisted in a grotesque way, his limbs limp and thin at his sides.  This young man is Dean’s half-brother.  This innocent man was eaten alive by ghouls looking for revenge on his absent father.  And as though that wasn’t enough, Zachariah tricked him out of Heaven only to be used as bait for Dean.  And then Michael took him, dragged him into the cage.  He has suffered so much, and he’s hardly even had a chance at any sort of a life.

This is why I’ve come—to give Adam Milligan a chance to live the life that was taken from him.  This is what Sam and Dean would have wanted for him.

As these thoughts quiet down, I reach out and repair the damage done to his body, correcting the alignments, mending bone, knitting flesh.  When I’m satisfied, I gently press the soul to his chest and let it slide into his body.

A moment later, the man wakes with a sharp gasp and promptly starts shivering.  I lay a hand on his chest to calm him before spreading my wings to take him back to Earth.  Sam and Dean will know what to do with him.

Just as I lift free of Hell, I feel gut-clenching disappointment that almost instantly morphs into blind panic.  _Cas?_ sounds in my head loudly, and I know that Dean must have just awakened to an empty bed.

_I’m on my way_ , I project, and we land on Bobby’s front porch.  I steer my passenger to the door and knock.

“I… I remember you,” Adam says in a slightly hoarse voice.  I’ve repaired his vocal cords, but until he gets some fluid into his system, his voice will be a bit rough.  “You’re Castiel.  M-Michael… he hated you for sending him away.  If you hadn’t done that, then Dean wouldn’t have had a shot at Sam.  And then Michael… Michael and I… wouldn’t have had to go into the cage.  Oh, he hated you.”

“Do _you_ hate me, Adam?” I ask.

But before he can respond, the door is pulled open, and Sam stands in the doorway.  The bit of sleepiness visible on his face vanishes completely when he catches sight of his half-brother.

“Oh, shit.  Adam?”

Adam cringes and jerks back.  “You’re not… not…”

“I’m Sam.  Not Lucifer,” Sam says quickly, and a pained expression briefly crosses his face.

“Aw hell, no,” Bobby mutters from behind Sam.  I note that the infection is still surrounding him, but he appears to be maintaining a safe distance between himself and Sam.  “What did you do, Cas?”

“Wait—come inside first,” Sam says, backing up to let us in.

Dean comes thundering down the steps, and the relief he feels when he sees me is shared between us.  Then he sees Adam and stops short.

“Is uh, is Adam really here, or am I just having a really weird dream?”

“I’m here,” Adam says.

Bobby is still looking at me expectantly, so I say, “I may have borrowed a bit more of God’s power to bring his soul back into the universe.”

“But… when I asked, you said his body was dead, and his soul was disintegrated.  Gone forever,” Dean says.  “How could you—”

“The power of God is nearly limitless.  A single soul is no challenge.”  As I say these words, a strange pressure begins to build inside me, and I suppress the feeling.

Adam looks between us, uncomprehending, and says, “Wait, wait.  Did you say power of _God?_   What’s going on?”

“Man, you’ve missed a lot,” Dean says.  “There’s a ton o’ shit going on, and I don’t think we can just summarize it all.”

“You know, we shouldn’t,” Sam says.  “You can leave and live another life, now.  Everyone—and every _thing_ thinks you’re dead, so… you’re free.”

“But last time, those… those monsters got to me.  I couldn’t—”

“We could teach you what to look for,” Sam offers.

“You idjit,” Bobby says.  “With the number of creatures out there, how d’you expect to teach him everything?  And we’ve still got a bit of a Leviathan problem on our hands.  You think we’ve got time to give the kid a ride on the Magic School Bus?”

“What else can we do?” Sam replies.  “He can’t just stay here, can he?  He’s got a life to live.”

As Sam and Bobby speak, the pressure from earlier increases slightly, and I shift uncomfortably, repressing it as much as possible.  Sensing my discomfort, Dean crosses the room to stand near me, and his hand brushes mine.  His touch is reassuring but does nothing to release the pressure.

“Actually, I don’t,” Adam interjects before Bobby can reply.  “My mom was all I had, and now she’s gone.”

“But… but you were going to school, weren’t you?” Sam asks.  “You could start over—”

“Start over for what?” Adam says bitterly.  “I’m not interested in starting over.  Not when I know there’s a whole world of monsters out there, waiting in the dark.  I can’t ever… I can’t…” he breaks off, shaking his head.

“All right, then,” Dean says.  “Would you like to stay here?”

“Hey, I ain’t volunteerin’ for this,” Bobby says.

Adam shakes his head again.  “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to be a hunter?” Sam asks.

“I… I don’t know.  I…” he sighs.  “I just don’t want to have to be scared.  But… but I get the feeling that no matter what I do, it’s always gonna be there.”

Sam gives his half-brother a look filled with compassion.  “Man, I’m sorry.  But… maybe you should join us for a hunt.  Or stay here with Bobby and train.  Put all your focus into something.  It’ll help.  Promise.”

“Yeah, we’ve been through this,” Dean chimes in.  “Hell, all of us hunters are scared ‘cause o’ all the shit we know about the creatures that hide in the dark.  But now and then we get to kill a son of a bitch, and that makes it all more bearable.”

Adam huffs.  “Bearable.  That’s the best case scenario for my life, huh?”  He glances at me.  “Why’d you even bother bringing me back, man?”

“Hey, don’t you go being all ungrateful toward my angel,” Dean says.  “Anything’s better than being dead, you got that?  And you were more dead than most people get.  Your soul was destroyed.”

“But I didn’t know it,” Adam says.  “I was better off dead.”

Bobby practically growls at this.  “Boy, if you really think so, I can fix that for you real fast,” he says, and suddenly he’s cocking a pistol and pointing it in Adam’s direction.

Adam flinches away, and Sam and Dean instantly turn to face Bobby, putting themselves between their mentor and half-brother.

“Idjits,” Bobby says with a sigh.  “Didya really think I’d shoot ‘im after all the trouble Cas went to just to get ‘im back?”

Dean shrugs.  “Sorry, Bobby.  Better safe than sorry.”

The pressure’s grown so that it’s difficult to concentrate on the conversation, so I clear my throat to get the others’ attention.  “I need to go,” I announce.

“Right,” Dean says.  “Gotta pass on the power of God, hmm?”

I nod—that is most likely the source of my discomfort.  “I will return shortly,” I say.

“Take care,” Sam says with a sincere smile.

“And thanks,” Dean adds, glancing at Adam before looking back at me.

I give him a small smile, and I know that he understands it was for him—it’s always for him.  And I hope that now, he will finally be able to accept that.


	33. With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility

_“So what do you think?” Sam is asking._

_“I think that demons don’t give a crap about monster tweens unless they’re told to,” Dean says._

_I’m just grateful for once that Crowley moves quickly.  If only his workers were more careful and hadn’t left behind that trace of sulfur…_

_“So you think she was telling the truth?” Sam asks._

_“The truth about what?” I ask._

_“She said that Crowley’s still kickin’,” Dean says._

_“But I burned his bones.  How c—was she certain?”_

_“Sounded pretty sure.  According to her, Crowley’s still waterboarding her kids, somewhere.”_

_“I don’t understand,” I say, shaking my head._

_“Well he is a crafty son of a bitch,” Dean says._

_“I’m an angel,” I say firmly—it makes sense that I would take offense, right?  “I’ll look into it immediately,” I add before cloaking myself.  I won’t leave yet—I need to see what Sam, Dean, and Bobby conclude.  This could be crucial._

_“Cas!  Let us know what you find out!” Dean grouses._

_Bobby and Sam start walking away from Dean._

_“What, what?” Dean says._

_“How_ did _Crowley get away?  I mean, it’s not like Cas to make mistakes like that.  Unless—” Bobby stops himself before going any farther, but the implication is clear._

_“Unless what?” Dean prods, unbelieving._

_“Unless he meant to,” Bobby finishes._

_“Bobby, this is Cas we’re talking about,” Dean says, and I am surprised that despite everything that’s changed between us, Dean is still defending me.  Perhaps I’ve been reading him wrong.  Surely some trust does remain.  Then Dean is saying to Sam, “Do you believe this?”_

_Sam just looks down without answering._

_“Sam?” Dean says, looking worried now._

_Sam sighs.  “Look, it’s probably nothing.  It’s just…” he hesitates a moment before saying, “You know what?  You’re right.  It’s—it’s probably nothing.”_

_But it’s clear that he already suspects, just as Bobby does.  How long before Dean starts to agree with them?_

_I silently depart and fly back into the diner, looking down at Eve’s dead body.  The Mother of All really is dead, and our one best shot at opening the gates to Purgatory has gone with her.  Crowley approaches me, and I step around to get a better look at Eve’s face._

_“Really, Cas?  This is getting ridiculous,” the demon says, and I turn to face him.  “How many times am I gonna have to clean up your messes?”_

_I have to go quickly, or else my comrades will be able to sense that I’ve been in his presence.  “You should tell your demons to be more careful,” I say._

_He frowns.  “They should have been.”_

_“They left behind a trace of sulfur.  And you—Eve told the Winchesters that you were alive.  Your interrogations—”_

_“Eve was never supposed to come into contact with the Winchesters—you were supposed to let me get to her first!  Of course, you and your bloody_ pets _—”_

_“Enough,” I say.  “Take her body.  Perhaps you will find something.  I must go.”_

_Before Crowley can respond, I shift out of the plane.  He shouts something after me, but I block out his words and take the long way back to Heaven to shake off any lingering traces of his presence on my person._

_Gadreel, Eremiel, and Balthazar converge upon me as soon as I arrive in Heaven.  I frown at them, about to ask about the battle, but then I realize that Heaven is quiet._

_“It is a day of peace,” Eremiel says, answering my unasked question._

_“Good.”_

_“Castiel, we…” Eremiel’s voice fades, and he looks away._

_“You have a question,” I say._

_“We… we don’t know what happened to Rachel.  But she said that she was going to speak to you when she departed,” Gadreel says._

_“Yes, she did,” I reply, allowing sadness to show on my features._

_“What’s happened to her?” Balthazar asks._

_“She… caught up with me in Egypt.  We were discussing more methods to gather power, but Virgil ambushed us,” I say._

_“Ambush?” Eremiel says._

_“That’s dishonorable and dirty,” Gadreel comments, nose wrinkling in disgust._

_“I take it Rachel… didn’t… didn’t make it out,” Balthazar says._

_“No,” I say.  “The attack was too sudden.  He managed to injure me, and I had to make a quick escape.  I took refuge with Bobby Singer and masked my trail so he could not follow.”_

_Balthazar looks saddened by the news, but he only says, “Ah.  So that’s where you disappeared to.”_

_“Rachel is really no longer with us,” Gadreel murmurs, eyes fixed on me as though he’s looking for confirmation but too afraid to demand it._

_“Yes,” I say softly.  “She’s gone now.”_

_Gadreel looks stricken.  “Pardon me,” he says, and then he takes flight, leaving us behind.  He was always the closest to Rachel, as their interests and abilities lined up perfectly.  Both were masterful strategists who dedicated themselves wholly to the cause._

_“I cannot believe she’s really passed,” Balthazar says.  Then he chuckles, but the sound falls flat.  “I suppose this was how she felt when she thought I’d died.  Any chance she… pulled my stunt?”_

_“Do not demean her death by paralleling it with your dishonorable tricks,” Eremiel says.  The words would be offensive if they were spoken by Gadreel, but Eremiel’s unassuming tone softens the intent considerably.  “She was a great warrior.”_

_As Eremiel speaks these last words, he looks at me neutrally, and I wonder what it means.  He and I were always the quiet ones of the garrison, hardly ever speaking unless spoken to.  Both of us developed skills at reading our fellow angels, but not so much for each other.  I cannot tell what he is thinking.  I know for sure that Balthazar and Gadreel would never suspect me, and I would have thought the same for Eremiel as well, except for this look that he is giving me._

_“Yes, I know,” Balthazar says, distracting me from my thoughts.  “She was one of the best of us.”_

_Guilt wells up in me, and I feel like a large weight is pressing down on my chest.  “I’ll take my leave now,” I say.  “Rest well—tomorrow, the fight resumes.”_

_“Yes,” Eremiel says.  “You should rest as well, Castiel.”_

_His tone gives away nothing, and as soon as I’ve taken off and am safe from his perceptive eyes, I shudder.  There’s no way he can know for sure.  No way._

* * *

I arrive in Heaven and seek out Michael.  It doesn’t take long to find him—he’s not hiding.

“Hello, Castiel,” he says as soon as I arrive.  “I’m surprised you didn’t come sooner.  It’s been over two weeks since Raphael visited you.  I thought you’d come with your questions long before now.”

“The status and power that come with being an archangel do not concern me,” I say.  “I am here for another reason.”

“Oh?” Michael says, turning to face me.  He sounds mildly surprised, so I deduce that Gabriel can’t have informed him of what happened in Purgatory.

“I made a trip to Purgatory,” I say.

“Ah, yes.  Gabriel informed me that he was planning to enter Purgatory with you.  I wasn’t aware that you’d already gone.  It must have been a short trip, if you’re back already.”

I nod—though two weeks passed on Earth, our trip to Purgatory lasted just over an hour.  “Very quick.  But I… there are things that I must tell you, but it would be easier to just show you, if I could…”

Michael’s lips quirk into a small smile.  “Of course, little brother,” he says as he moves toward me.

When he’s close enough, I reach a hand out but pause before touching his forehead—this method for transferring memories is not normally used for reporting to angels of higher rank.  If anything, Michael should be extracting the thoughts from my head.

But he just nods, and I close the distance, pressing two fingertips gently against his forehead.  He gasps when our vessels come into contact, and it’s clear that he can sense the power coiled inside me.  I feel it flare a little in response to the proximity of its rightful recipient, but I press it down, holding it back.  I need Michael to understand what happened in Purgatory before I pass it on.

Moments later, Michael knows and sees all that happened, from my perspective.  He backs away, eyes wide and slightly wet.

“Father.  He was… He was still alive.”

“Yes.”

“But not anymore,” Michael says, and I can hear his simmering anger in the slight shaking of his voice.  “Why couldn’t He have waited?  Just a little longer, and perhaps I would have been able to see Him again, through my own eyes.”

I look down and remain silent.  Offering apologies now would do no good.

He takes a deep breath.  “His… His power.  Why didn’t He transfer it to you?  You’re clearly—”

“He must have had reasons for doing so.  I can’t have this kind of power.  If you were out of the cage for so long… you should know what power did to me.”

“That was what the Leviathans and all the souls of Purgatory did to you,” Michael counters.  “You have the purest—”

“I can’t do it, Michael,” I say.  “I literally can’t, at this point.  Can you even imagine what the consequences would be for a being who tried to usurp the power of God?”

“I could pass it to you,” he says.

I shake my head, determined.  “I can’t take power like this.  The last time I was so powered up, I could have destroyed the world.  It’s still possible that I’ve already destroyed the world—I was the one who let the Leviathans in, after all.”

Michael drops his gaze to the ground below us.  “Fine.  If it was Father’s wish that I take this power, I will take it,” he says.

“Good,” I say, summoning forth the power in preparation to pass it over.

“Wait—just wait,” Michael says, taking a few steps back.  “One thing.  I… I have to tell this to someone, and it’s oddly fitting that it be you.”

I frown.  “You know that you won’t be able to access Father’s power until the time is right—you can wait until after I’ve already transferred the power to you.”

Michael just shakes his head, and I hold my tongue.  It’s clear that he wants to get out whatever it is that’s bothering him, so I force back the ball of Light inside me and wait as patiently as I can for him to start speaking.

“I wasn’t really the one who brought you back,” he says, and it sounds like a confession.  Like an apology for lying.  “It was a cover story.  There really is only one way to become a Creator, and it’s for the Creator Himself to make you one, as He did with Eve.  I was never given the power to create.”

“Then who was it?” I ask, already suspecting the answer.

“Death,” Michael says.  “It was Death.  I… I may have manipulated him.”

I can’t hold back a smile at this.  “I thought you two looked more familiar with each other than I would have expected.”

“Yes,” my brother says tiredly.  “I played on his fondness of Father’s last creations.  I’m certain that he knew exactly what I was doing and just allowed it.  Because he really does care about you, all of you.”

No—Michael should be included in this.  “Us,” I correct him softly, earning a small smile.

“Thank you, Castiel,” he says genuinely, and I feel the warmth of my eldest brother’s love, for the first time.  I look at him and can hardly imagine that I once fought tooth and nail to keep him away from Dean, that I once thought of him as part of the enemy.

“Why did you lie?” I ask.

“Death couldn’t allow people to learn that he was making exceptions, bringing people back,” Michael explains.  “Of course, he was probably struggling with you anyway, since you apparently wouldn’t let him take you.  He didn’t tell me this at the time, but after what Father told you…”

I still have a hard time processing that I was able to fight off Death. That I apparently kept him at bay three times and clawed my way back into the world of the living.

When he doesn’t continue, I hold my hand out and summon the ball of Light to my palm.  He watches it with wonder in his eyes, and I wait expectantly for him to take it.

“I… I can’t take it,” he finally says.  “I can’t.  Not after everything—no.  If anyone should keep it, it really should be you.”

“Michael—” I begin, exasperated.

“You don’t understand, Castiel,” he breaks in.  “Without Father’s presence to stop me, without someone to keep me from doing it, I… I…”

“You what?” I ask tentatively, suddenly hyperaware of just how delicate this moment is.

“I’ll release him,” Michael says softly.  “The Morning Star—our brother.  I’ve wanted nothing more than to release him, and embrace him.  Ever since I realized that I didn’t know what Father wanted from us, I wanted our family back.  I have Gabriel back, and Raphael.  I suppose I have you now, too.  But Lucifer…”

I reach out with my wings and extend them around him, using them to lightly brush his wings where they’re drooping at his sides.  I’m unsure of how he’ll take the gesture, but when he doesn’t shy away, I allow the touch to become firmer.

“Brother, I understand.”

He shakes his head, but I step forward and use my free hand to touch his cheek, pulling his face back up so that he’ll look at me.

“I do,” I insist.  “Lucifer is to you what Sam is to Dean.  I understand now how much it hurt to follow our Father’s directions, to cast him into Hell.  I know why you never showed your face to us after that.  The others—and I have to admit that I thought this too, at the time—believed that you thought yourself above us, after having defeated Lucifer.  But now I know.  And that knowledge is enough, is it not?”

I step forward, bringing the Light closer to him, and he tries to back away.  I keep my wings pressed to his back, fully aware that he could stretch out his wings at any moment to push me away.

But he doesn’t, and this gives me faith.

“Michael, our Father wanted you to find happiness.  If you must release Lucifer to do so, then release him you shall.”

His eyes widen.  “But—”

“He would not have entrusted you with this power and given you that command if He did not have faith that you would be able to handle it.  With this amount of power, you will be able to control Lucifer if need be.  There does not have to be another apocalypse.  Lucifer can return home, and we can be a family again.”

Michael’s eyes light up despite himself at the image that my words have painted in his mind, and he reaches his hand out.  At first I expect him to take the ball of Light, but he steps forward and crushes me to his chest instead.  I’m careful to close my fist around God’s power, unwilling to release it unless it’s to place it in Michael’s care.  His arms are tight around me, and he does not have to speak for me to feel the gratitude emanating from his Grace.

Finally, he releases me and holds out his hand, and I dutifully transfer the power to him.  He closes his fist around it, and it disappears into his vessel, where it will join with his Grace.  We look at each other for a moment, but nothing happens.

“Looks like the time is not right, yet,” Michael says with a small smile.

“No, I suppose not,” I reply.  “Now, I must resume my search.  The world is still struggling on.”

Michael nods.  “Go on.”

I turn to fly away, but his hand abruptly lands on my shoulder, stopping me.

“Castiel, you…”

I turn back and see that his eyes are filled with awe.  I’m taken aback by the look in his eyes.  They seem to be brighter than they were before, and I wonder if that’s the manifestation of the part of his new powers that he’s able to access.

“I… I _see_ you now,” he says in a hushed voice.  “And you… you really are… different.  In the best possible way.”

Then he releases my shoulder, and I turn away again, unsure how to respond to a statement like that.  But then I hear him flying away and am relieved that I won’t have to.

I just hope that my advice concerning Lucifer was not a mistake.

* * *

_“Howdy, partner,” Crowley says._

_“What have you found?”_

_“I’ve found a lot of things.  For example… Eve’s brain?  Dead as a tinned kipper.  And yet…” Crowley reaches into Eve’s cut-open belly and pulls out a handful of eggs, “…for some reason, she keeps laying eggs.”  Then he picks up a hot poker and says, “Watch this.”  He places the poker on Eve’s brain, and the chained vampire shackled across the small lab jerks violently.  “Chocula here feels every tickle,” the demon says._

_“What is that good for?”_

_“Apart from the obvious erotic value, you got me.”_

_“You said Eve could open the door to Purgatory,” I say impatiently._

_“Correct, I did.  And I’m confident that she could have, if she was still alive!” Crowley responds, his voice lowering in volume but increasing in urgency so that he’s somehow quieter but more intimidating at the same time.  “Single best chance to get over the rainbow, and the Winchesters killed her!”_

_“It was unavoidable,” I say._

_“You screwed up, Cas.  You let the hounds mangle the pheasant, and now I am up to my elbows in it,” he says, motioning toward the blood-covered apron that he’s wearing._

_“What is your point?”_

_“The point is… you’re distracted, and that makes me nervous.”_

_“I am holding up my end.”_

_“Ah, yes.  But is that all you’re holding?” Crowley responds, leaning in close.  “See… the stench of that Impala’s all over your overcoat, angel.  I thought we’d agreed—no more nights out with the boys.”_

_“I spoke with Dean.  I needed to know what they know,” I say defensively._

_“About what?  About me, maybe?  ‘Cause I happen to have it on good authority that your two little pets, are currently trying to hunt me down!” he barks, raising his voice toward the end.  “Forgive me, but I think you might have a little conflict of interest here.”  As he finishes speaking, he stabs the poker into Eve’s brain, and behind me, the vampire thrashes and cries out._

_Yes, I suppose he does have a point—my interest is conflicted.  At this point, it would not only be easier, but it’d be_ safer _to just kill them, store them in Heaven until the fight is over so that they cannot go poking around.  They’re likely to hurt themselves in the process, anyway._

_But I could never kill Dean.  I couldn’t when Rachel asked me to, and I certainly won’t now, when a demon is asking the same of me._

_“Please.  I’m begging you, Castiel.  Just kill the Winchesters,” Crowley says._

_“No.”_

_“Fine.  Then I’ll do it myself.”_

_“If you kill them, I’ll just bring them back again,” I counter._

_“No, you won’t.  Not where I’ll put ‘em.  Trust me.”_

_“I said, no,” I say firmly.  “Don’t worry about them.”_

_“Don’t_ worry _about—what, like Lucifer didn’t worry?  Or Michael?  Or Lilith, or Alastair, or Azazel didn’t worry?!”  The volume of his voice increases as he gets angrier.  “Am I the only game piece on the board who_ doesn’t _underestimate those denim-wrapped nightmares?!” he finishes._

_“Just find Purgatory.  If you don’t, we will both die again and again, until the end of time.”  I turn away from him and start walking toward the exit.  “The Winchesters won’t get to you.”_

_“Let ‘em get to me!  I’ll tear their friggin’ hearts out!” Crowley roars after me just before I take flight._

_I consider turning back to express just how much pain he’ll be in if he does anything to them, but it seems unnecessary.  He won’t act out right now, not unless he’s really discovered.  He is a sly creature, and he won’t expose himself when it’s not beneficial to him._

_I just have to make sure the Winchesters don’t find him, which will require some spying._

_Shame curls in my gut as I travel toward Bobby’s house.  They’ve forgotten—or perhaps they’ve never really known—that angels can travel around soundlessly in a separate dimension._

_As I land and prepare to listen in on their conversation, I wonder what I’m doing, when I fell so far._

_I’ve been able to justify everything I’ve done so far, even the death of Rachel.  I couldn’t expose my deal with Crowley because I’ll lose what support I have in Heaven.  We still do not have a way to reach Purgatory, and Eve is already gone.  We’ll have to find an alternate way in._

_But I can’t… spying on the brothers and Bobby does not feel right.  Not for this purpose.  I’ve kept an eye on them in the past, but only for the sake of keeping them safe.  Hiding in the folds of the fabric of the universe in order to gather information from them covertly feels wrong.  It_ is _wrong.  But it is necessary.  I can only hope that after everything is over, they will forgive me for this transgression._

* * *

After a few hours of fruitless searching, I stop to rest a moment.

I consider going to Dean, but just closing my eyes is enough; it’s as though he’s with me right now.  I don’t know if the connection between us is equal, owing to our different compositions, but I can sense Dean’s emotions.  Right now, he’s feeling a great deal of contentment.  And… eating pie.  I smile.  Of course he would be.

But I’ve rested enough now, so I take off.  I’ve already checked all locations that seemed probable to me, but I’ve seen no sign of Chronos.  I sincerely hope that he was not killed by Lucifer at the Elysian Fields motel and am thinking about contacting Gabriel when I remember that I have a potentially foolproof way of finding the God of Time.

I fly up to Heaven and spend a moment searching for the Harvelles.  About twenty seconds later, I enter the Roadhouse in their realm.

“Cas!” Jo says from behind the bar.  “You really came to visit.”

I pause before clarifying, “While it is indeed pleasant to be seeing you again, my main purpose for coming was to seek help.”

Jo laughs.  “Yeah, Cas, I know,” she says.  “I was teasing you.”

Ellen enters from outside and smiles when she sees me.  “Well hello there, Cas.  Didn’t expect you to be showin’ up here so soon.  What can we do for you?”

“I would like to speak with Jesse.  Is he available?”

“Sure,” Ellen says.  She hesitates before asking, “You won’t be asking him to attack anyone though, will you?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.”

Then Jo calls out, “Hey Jesse!  You around here somewhere?”

The small boy suddenly appears by Ellen’s elbow, but she doesn’t flinch at all—she must be very used to his appearances.

“Hello, Jesse,” I say.  “I’m here to ask you for a favor.”

He fixes wary eyes on me.  “I’m not hurting anyone,” he says.

“Yes, I know.  That’s not what I need you to do.  What I hope for is that you’ll find a friend of mine for me,” I say.  “Could you do that?”

“I think so.”

“His name is Chronos.  I don’t even know if he’s still alive, but I—”

“He’s alive,” Jesse says.  I give him a surprised look, but he just says, “He is passing himself off as a Buddhist monk in a small town in Tibet.  Do you need any other information?”

“No,” I reply.  “Thank you, Jesse.”

“You’re… not going to hurt him, are you?”

I shake my head.  “Not unless he hurts me first.”

Jesse nods his approval and declares, “That’s good.”  Then he turns to Jo and says, “I made some more flowers.  Wanna come see?”

Jo smiles.  “Sure, s’long as Cas is done with you.”

The boy looks up at me eagerly, and I give him a nod.  Jesse whoops excitedly and goes to Jo.  When he grasps her wrist, they both vanish.

“He’s been inventing new species of flowers for Jo, nonstop,” Ellen tells me with a small smile.

“He is… a good kid.”

She nods.  Then she glances at me and asks, “What do you need to talk to the God of Time for?”

“It concerns a ritual,” I say.  “Pardon me for leaving out the details—it’s best if as few people are aware of our plans as possible.  The Leviathans should not be able to reach you here, but in case they do… I can’t have them looking into your mind and finding all of our plans.”

“Yes, I know,” Ellen says wearily as she takes a seat.  “I just wish I could help out.  Jo does, too.  It’s hard for us to sit around up here, knowing that you’re all down there, fighting.”

“I understand,” I say.  “But I must go now.  This is important.”

She nods again.  “Kick it in the ass, Cas.”

I frown.  “What does that mean?”

“Figure of speech,” Ellen says.  “Means ‘good luck,’ you dumb lug.”

“I see.  Thank you, then.”

“Don’t thank me.  Win for me.  For all of us.”

It feels good to have her wholehearted support, and I give her a grateful smile before taking off.


	34. I'd Break the Back of Love for You

_Dean’s voice sounds in my head._

Castiel, uh… we need you for a little powwow down here, so come on down.

_I’m surprised to find that he’s still in Ellsworth’s house.  Why would they have lingered here?_

_“Hello,” I say._

_“Oh, Johnny on the spot,” Bobby says._

_“You’re still here,” I observe aloud, hoping for an explanation._

_“Yeah, we had to bury the bodies,” Sam says._

_“And we found a little whiskey,” Dean adds, lifting a glass from where he’s sitting.  “Thanks for coming.”_

_“How can I help?” I ask.  They would not have called me for nothing._

_“Oh, look.  We, um—we have a new plan.  We think we’ve finally figured out a way to track down Crowley,” Sam says, and he’s holding open a folder, as though he’s looking over some notes._

_I step toward him, hoping to get a look at what he’s reading.  “What is it?” I ask._

_Bobby lights a match and drops it on the floor, and holy fire springs up.  I follow the flames as they go up, forming a ring around me._

_“It’s you,” Bobby says._

_I can’t believe it.  This… this… it’s something that_ I _taught them.  That I taught_ Dean _.  I can’t believe he’s using it against me._

_“What are you doing?” I demand._

_“We gotta talk,” Dean says._

_My wings flare out of their own accord and withdraw instinctively as the fire singes them.  “About what?  Let me go!”_

_“About Superman.  And Kryptonite,” Dean says, and suddenly it becomes clear what my mistake was._

_“How’d you know what I said?” Bobby asks._

_“How long you been watching us?” Sam demands._

_“You know who spies on people, Cas?  Spies,” Dean says, and the anger in his voice hurts so much more than I’d expected it to._

_“Okay, just wait,” I say.  “I don’t even know what you mean.”  I don’t know why I say this—there’s no way for me to talk my way out this time._

_“What about this demon craphole?” Sam asks, continuing the barrage of questions.  “How is it so, uh…_ next to godliness _clean in here?”_

_Then it’s Bobby’s turn again.  “And how exactly did Crowley trick you with the wrong bones?”_

_“It’s hard to understand.  It’s hard to explain,” I say, but it’s even more difficult for me to concentrate when I’m terrified of even spreading my wings.  This is so much more uncomfortable than it was when Lucifer trapped me.  It could be because I am fully an angel now, but I believe it’s because these are—or were?—my friends.  “Just let me go.  Let me out, and I can—”_

_“You got to look at me, man,” Dean says, and I meet his eyes.  “You got to level with me and tell me what’s going on.  Look me in the eye, and tell me you’re not working with Crowley.”_

_I try to keep looking at Dean’s face, into his eyes, but I can’t hold his gaze, and my eyes drop to the ground._

_“You son of a bitch,” he says in a voice hardly louder than a whisper._

_“Let me explain.”_

_“You’re in it with him?” Dean says.  “You and Crowley have been going after Purgatory together?  You have, huh?  This whole time.”_

_“I did it to protect you.  I did it to protect all of you,” I say._

_“Protect us how?  By opening a hole into monster-land?” Sam says._

_“He’s right, Cas.  One drop got through, and it was Eve.  And you want to break down the entire dam?” Bobby says._

_“To get the souls,” I say.  “I can stop Raphael.  Please, you have to trust me.”_

_“_ Trust you? _” Sam says incredulously.  “How in the hell are we supposed to trust you now?”_

_“I’m still me.  I’m still your friend.  Sam, I am the one who raised you from Perdition.”_

_“What?” Sam says, surprised.  But instead of thankfulness on his face, there’s only anger, and I don’t understand why.  “Well, no offense, but you did a pretty piss-poor job of it.”  Then he gasps.  “Wait.  Did you bring me back soulless… on purpose?”_

_I can’t believe that it’s come to this.  There’s a painful stabbing sensation in my chest that I’m unable to understand.  His words_ hurt _.  “How could you think that?” I say._

_“Well, I’m thinking a lot of things right now, Cas,” Sam says, and I can’t look at his face anymore._

_“Listen.  Raphael will kill us all.  He’ll turn the world into a graveyard.  I had no choice.”_

_“No, you had a choice,” Dean argues.  “You just made the wrong one.”_

_How does he see everything so black and white?  “You don’t understand.  It’s complicated.”_

_“No, actually, it’s not, and you know that.  Why else would you keep this whole thing a secret, huh, unless you knew that it was wrong?”  I remember Crowley’s arguments clearly, but Dean steamrolls on without letting me speak, “When crap like this comes around, we deal with it… like we always have.  What we don’t do is we don’t go out and make another deal with the devil!”_

_“It sounds so simple when you say it like that,” I say bitterly, not bothering to mention that Dean chose to work with the exact same demon when it was convenient for him.  “Where were you when I needed to hear it?”_

_“I was there.  Where were you?”_

_I… I chose not to ask him.  Because I thought Dean was done, because Sam asked him to be.  I see now that I perhaps should have asked, but I couldn’t have known then that Dean was going to reenter the hunting world regardless._

_“You should’ve come to us for help, Cas,” Dean says._

_“Maybe,” I say.  Then there’s the sound of wind, and I can sense the approach of a great number of demons—Crowley’s army.  I look at Bobby, Sam, Dean.  “It’s too late now.  I can’t turn back now.  I can’t.”_

_“It’s not too late.  Damn it, Cas!  We can fix this!” Dean shouts._

_“Dean, it’s not broken!” I reply.  Dean looks like he’s about to respond, but then the black smoke that I was able to sense is visible through the windows, and I say, “Run.  You have to run, now.”  When they don’t move, I repeat in a more urgent tone, “Run!”_

_Dean pulls open the front door and lets Sam and Bobby exit before him.  Just as he’s about to leave, he turns back and looks at me again, and I see something like worry, something like concern in his eyes, for just one millisecond.  But then it’s masked behind anger and determination again, and he darts out after his brother and mentor._

_Not two minutes later, Crowley enters through the same door, taking up the space that the Winchesters just vacated._

_“My, my,” he says.  “Playing with fire again?”_

_He snaps his fingers, extinguishing the flames around my feet.  I instantly feel relief at being released, but it does nothing to make the anger in my chest recede._

_“If you touch the Winchesters…” I begin, starting toward Crowley, but he disappears before I can reach him, and I spin around to face him._

_“Please,” he says.  “I heard you the first time.  I promise—nary a hair on their artfully tousled heads.  Besides, I think they’ve proven my point for me.  It’s always your friends, isn’t it, in the end?  We try to change.  We try to improve ourselves.  It’s always our friends who got to_ claw _into our sides and hold us back.  But you know what I see here?  The new God—” he points at me “—and the new Devil, working together.”_

_“Enough.  Stop talking.  And get out of my sight,” I demand._

_“Well… glad I came.  And you’re welcome, by the way,” he says before heading for the exit.  His footsteps pause, and he turns around.  “You know the difference between you and me?  I know what I am.  What are you, Castiel?  What exactly are you willing to do?”_

_I wish I knew the answer myself._

* * *

Even with Jesse’s hint, it still takes me about half an hour to comb through all the monasteries and find Chronos—he is so well disguised that I have to go through all of the monks I can find twice before actually singling him out.

When I shift into the human plane behind him, he sighs.

“I suppose it was only a matter of time before you found me.”

“Hello, Chronos,” I say.

He doesn’t bother to turn.  “Castiel.”

“You seem to have been expecting me.  Why didn’t you show yourself?  It would have saved me time.”

“One can always hope to remain anonymous,” Chronos says.  His human guise looks very much like the other monks that I’ve seen in temples around here—he’s shaved bald and wears long, flowing robes.  A long string of fat beads hangs around his neck, and a smaller string of beads is in his hand.

“I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Yes, I know.  No one seeks me out unless there is a favor to be done.  What is it that you want me to do?  Turn back time?  Slip into the future to take a peek at what’s coming?”

“Neither.  I want you to stop time.”

The God of Time stiffens for a moment, and we both stand completely still.  A long silence settles between us, but I say nothing to break it—he requires time to think this over, so I will give it to him.

Finally, he says, “How do you even know that that’s possible?”

“I know it can be done.  You control time—God gave the control of time over to you.  You can stop it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“On the contrary, I do,” I say.  “I have traveled with the power of God stored in my Grace, and His infinite knowledge was accessible to me.”

“Then you must know what is required in order to achieve something so difficult as stopping time.”

I frown—this is something I hadn’t looked into because I’d taken it as a given that the God of Time would easily be able to stop time.  “What is required?” I ask when it doesn’t seem that he’ll give me the information on his own.

“A sacrifice,” he says.  “A great one.  Why would you want to stop time in the first place?”

“Tell me what the sacrifice is first.”

“No.  I’d like to know what it is I’d be doing this for.  Even if the sacrifice could be done, I won’t do it unless I approve of your cause,” says Chronos.

Impatient, I move around him so that we can speak face to face.  “You know of the Leviathans who have recently arrived on Earth, I assume.”

“Yes.  They’ve been keeping a lower profile than I’d expected, but I am aware of their presence.”

“We wish to perform a ritual that will send them back to Purgatory.  All of the requirements and ingredients of the ritual are simple enough, save one.  And this exception is that the Leviathans must have overstayed their welcome on Earth.  God gave them until ‘the end of time,’ so we will end time in order to force them out,” I explain.

“Ah,” Chronos says.  “A noble cause indeed.”

“Will you tell me what the sacrifice is, then?”

He frowns.  “If everything I’ve heard is true, you won’t like it.”

“Tell me.”

“Very well.  I need to sacrifice someone who has broken the system of fate and destiny in order to stop time, in order for time to cease to exist for however long you need,” Chronos says.

Realization hits me like a blow to the chest—breaking the system of fate and destiny.  Who fit those requirements better than Sam and Dean Winchester?

“There are not many people who’ve defied destiny, defied fate,” the god continues.  “Two, to be exact: Sam and Dean Winchester,” he says, voicing my thoughts.

“They cannot… I will not let them do it,” I say.  “How about… how about me?  Could you take me?”

“You only count partially,” Chronos says.  “You followed very much of your destiny.  It’s true that you participated in stopping the Apocalypse, which is why you count at all, but you did open Purgatory, and you did set free the beasts.  Using you as a sacrifice would have a weaker effect—I wouldn’t be able to stop time for as long.”

Yes, and I fulfilled the biggest part of my destiny—bringing about the death of God.  In comparison, assisting Sam and Dean in preventing the Apocalypse seems to be on such a small scale.

“Sam and Dean, however,” the god continues, “managed to completely rewrite their fates.  You see, the Apocalypse was originally supposed to be played out to completion.  You still would have opened up the gates of Purgatory afterwards, but Sam and Lucifer would have been dead, and Dean would have been in recovery after carrying Michael.  But they managed to stop it all.  They changed the plans for this world and forced even God to change His mind.  _That_ is the kind of sacrifice that I need.”

“Why is the sacrifice necessary?” I ask.

“Time is a very powerful thing.  It cannot simply be stopped.  It is easy to bend, to shift around, to manipulate.  Traveling to different points in time is not at all difficult.  That is because time is fluid—as an angel, you must know this.”  He pauses as though expecting me to contradict.  Finding that I have no argument, he continues to explain, “Imagine time as a stream of water.  And then imagine that you are trying to stop this stream, to turn it into a lake, using just one hand.  It is impossible, is it not?”

“So the sacrifice of a being who has interrupted the fate of the world is the dam that can plug up this metaphorical stream of time,” I conclude.

“Yes, very good,” Chronos says.  “I approve of your motives for stopping time, and I am willing to do my part—I very much appreciate the Earth, and humanity as well.  I would not like to watch as the Leviathans destroy everything.”

I frown.  “But…”

“But you’ll have to sacrifice one of the two Winchester brothers to have ample time to perform the ritual that will send the Leviathans back to Purgatory.”

This is impossible.  I can’t let Dean die—I will never stand by and watch him die.  Never.  And Sam… I would not be able to watch him die, not when there is any other choice.  What if Chronos just used me?  Bobby is extremely skilled with spells.  Perhaps he would be able to perform the ritual fast enough that I would be sufficient…

“It is probably best if you return to your friends now to discuss what you’ve learned,” Chronos says.  “Return with your answer soon.  I sense trouble on the horizon.”

I look up at him.  “How do you know so much?”

“I _am_ a god, Castiel,” he says.  “Not only am I just _a_ god, but I am one of the eldest and most powerful.  After all, God directly passed the control over time to me.”

So he had chances to speak with God.

“I will take my leave now,” I say.

He simply nods once before turning back to the altar and resuming his silent meditation.  I watch him for a moment before taking off for Bobby’s.

When I arrive, Sam and Bobby are in the study, researching.  What they are researching is a mystery to me.  Dean is nowhere nearby, and I frown, casting my senses out for him.  He’s humming contentedly.  And he seems to be driving.

“Where is Dean?” I ask, and Bobby jerks in surprise.

“A little warning, next time,” he growls.

“Dean went out to uh, get some air,” Sam says.  “He was getting all twitchy in here anyway.”

_Come back_ , I project to Dean, and I can almost feel the inertia tugging Dean to the side as he rapidly turns the car around to return to Bobby’s.

“I found Chronos,” I report.

“Really?” Sam says, setting his book down to the side and getting to his feet.  “What did he say?  Is he willing to help?  Will the ritual work?”

“Sam, I plan to wait until Dean has returned so that I can explain it all at once.”

“Right,” he says.  “I’ll call—”

“He is already on his way back,” I say.

Sam blinks twice and then says, “Oh, wow.  Right, of course.  The bond is from Grace to soul—of course you can sort of… read each other’s minds.”

I shake my head.  “It doesn’t work quite like that.  Typically, between two angels, this would mean no privacy between us.  Our thoughts would be linked at all times, as would our Graces.  But Dean is human, so the same level of connection simply cannot be achieved.  I could still look into his thoughts if I so wished, but as he does not have the same access to my thoughts, I feel that it is an unfair advantage.”

Sam lets out a huff of disbelief.  “Unfair advantage?  Hell, I’d be taking advantage of that if I could.  Dean is such a mess of contradictions that it’d be nice to just reach into his head and pull out the truth.”

“You don’t mean that,” I say with a frown.

He meets my eyes for a moment before nodding.  “Yeah you’re right, I don’t.  It’s just… it gets frustrating sometimes, trying to get the truth out of him.”

“You’re one to be talkin’,” Bobby speaks up.  “When you put your mind to it, you can be even more goddamn stubborn than your brother, and you know it.”

Sam doesn’t bother to argue and sits back down on the couch, picking his book back up again.

“What are you two researching?” I ask.

“Angel depressant,” Bobby says.  When I frown at him, confused, he rolls his eyes.  “The infectious crap that the Leviathans put on Eddie—we’re trying to find out what it is so we can find a way to get rid of it.  Unless you already know how.”

“I don’t know,” I confess.  “It will fade naturally.”

“Yeah, but I’m annoyed with having to avoid coming into contact with any human beings other than Eddie.  Accidents happen, and if we can’t notify you in time…”

“It will be gone soon,” I say.

“Soon, eh?  It’s only been a day,” Bobby points out.  “You said this stuff could last up to two or three weeks.”

Then the front door opens, and Dean enters.

“That was quick,” Sam says.

“Yeah, Cas called,” Dean replies without thinking.

Sam grins.  “Wow, so you’re his bitch now, huh?”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean says, striding over to join us.  He stops beside me, and his arm brushes against mine.  “What’s going on?”

“Cas found Chronos,” Bobby says before Sam can continue to tease Dean.

“Damn.  That fast?”

“I asked for help from Jesse,” I say.  “This favor did not involve violence, so he was willing to assist.”

“Hmm,” Dean grunts.  “So what did Chronos say?  He in or out?”

“He is… in,” I say.

Sam frowns.  “Then why the stink face, Cas?”

“Much more is required in order to stop time than I’d originally expected.”

“Okay, so we’ll work harder to put everything together,” Sam says.  “What’s the problem?”

I feel uneasy, and from the way Dean shifts his weight beside me, the sensation is being transferred through our connection.

“What’s wrong, Cas?” he asks me.

“It requires the sacrifice of a man who stopped his destiny, defied his fate,” I say.

“A man who stopped destiny,” Sam mutters.

He and Dean look at each other simultaneously.

“Aw, hell,” Bobby grumbles.

“I’ll do it,” Dean says.

“No,” Sam and I say at the same time.  We glance at each other in solidarity.

“I’ll do it,” Dean repeats.  “I did more fate-defying than you, Sam.  You still ended up saying yes to Lucifer in the end.  I never let Michael in.”

“Dean, you can’t.  I won’t let you,” Sam says.

“Dude, we need to stop time in order to whammy all the Leviathans back to monster-land.  If we need someone to be sacrificed to stop time, then I—”

“No,” Sam says.  “You and Cas just sealed the deal.  It’s gotta hurt when one of you dies.  Can you really do that to Cas?”

“If I have to—”

“Cas, help me out,” Sam says.

“Dean, I won’t let you be sacrificed,” I say.

He turns on me.  “What, so you’d let Sam die instead?  Is that it?”

“No,” I say.  “I… I’m willing to search for an alternate—”

“What the hell kind of alternate way can there be to _stop time?_ ” Dean argues.

“Dean—”

“I’m not letting Sam die, so it’s gotta be me.”

“ _No_ , Dean,” Sam breaks in.  “You’ve already condemned yourself to Hell once for me.  You’re not allowed to die for me again.”

“Boys, quit fightin’ over this,” Bobby says.

But Dean says, “Sammy, you know I can’t let you die.  You _know_ it.”

“What, and you think _I_ can just stand back and watch _you_ die?  It’s already happened to me once.  And maybe I wasn’t able to do anything to stop it then, but I’m sure as hell not letting you die on me again,” Sam says heatedly.

“One of us is gonna have to die for the ritual to work,” Dean says.

“Well why does it have to be you, Dean?” Sam says.  “Don’t you remember what happened the last time you died and left me alone up here?”

“What, are you saying that there’s a chance of that happening again?  After everything we’ve been through?”

“No, but—”

“You’ll be fine, Sam.  You—”

“Dean, _shut up!_   God, why do you always have to be such a goddamn martyr?”

Dean glares at his brother.  “Do you think I _wanna_ die, Sammy?  I only want this because I don’t want you to—”

“ _Shut up, the both o’ you!_ ” Bobby roars.

Sam and Dean turn their heads toward Bobby, who’s now standing up and leaning forward, bracing his hands on his desk.

“Cas said he’s willing to go for an alternate solution.  And you know what, maybe there _is_ one.  It doesn’t sound like it’s possible now, but we found a way to kill Eve, didn’t we?  We found a way into Purgatory, didn’t we?  Those all sounded pretty friggin’ impossible at the time, but we pulled it all off.  So we’re gonna stick it out this time, just like all the last times, and see what we find.”

Sam lets out a long breath.  “Yeah.  Okay, fine.  Just… Dean, we’re all gonna be keeping an eye on you.  ‘Cause we still remember what happened when you thought the only way—”

“Yeah, yeah, saying yes to Michael.  I remember,” he grumbles.  “Do we even have that sort of time to research, though?  I mean, we’ve been listening to the news and we haven’t heard anything about arming up against Russia, but it makes sense that they’re keeping everything hush-hush for now.”

That reminds me that I finally have some spare time to speak with Crowley, if Bobby and the Winchesters plan on researching how to stop time.  While they work, Crowley will be able to fill me in on all that’s been happening on the political front.

“Cas?” Dean says.  “You still in there?”

“Yes, of course,” I say.  “I will… get information on the situation from Crowley.”

“You do that,” Dean says.

I’m about to take off when I realize that I haven’t seen Adam anywhere.  “Where is Adam?” I ask.

“Oh,” Sam says, looking surprised by the question.  “Eddie’s doing some target practice with him, out back.  Don’t worry—they’ve said that they’ll be careful about contact.”

“I won’t be coming into contact with Adam anytime soon, so it should be fine,” I reply.  “I will leave, now.”

Dean chuckles.  “It’s nice to know, but you’ve gotta work on your goodbyes, man.”

I turn toward him and place a hand on his cheek.  Amusement continues to dance in his eyes, and I say softly, “Goodbye, Dean.”

His cheeks redden slightly, and the last traces of hilarity fade.  I can see Sam in my peripheral vision, struggling not to laugh.  I return my full attention to Dean’s eyes for one last moment before taking off.

_Bye, Cas_ , I hear, soft and private.

The words are short and simple, but they leave a fiercely warm sensation in my chest.

* * *

_Hours later, I make my way to Bobby Singer’s house._

_I already feel that it is hopeless, but there is still some part of me that foolishly believes that something of my friendship with the Winchesters can be salvaged.  And if it really can happen—which I really doubt, despite that stupid voice that keeps trying to convince me that it could—then Dean is the person with whom I must speak.  Alone._

_I move through the house silently and ensure that both Bobby and Sam will stay asleep before coming down to the study, where Dean is sleeping on the couch.  He starts waking up just as I land, and when he sees me, he sits up rapidly._

_“Hello, Dean,” I say._

_“How’d you get in here?”_

_“The angel-proofing Bobby put up on the house—he got a few things wrong.”_

_“Well, it’s too bad we gotta angel-proof in the first place, isn’t it?  Why are you here?” Dean asks._

_“I want you to understand.”_

_“Oh, believe me, I get it.  Blah, blah, Raphael, right?”_

_“I’m doing this for_ you _, Dean.  I’m doing this because of you.”_

_“Because of me,” he repeats.  “Yeah.  You got to be kidding me.”_

_“You’re the one who taught me that freedom and free will—”_

_“You’re a freakin’ child, you know that?  Just because you can do what you want doesn’t mean that you get to do_ whatever _you want!” Dean blurts out, and it’s a good thing I put Sam and Bobby to sleep before this, because his outburst would certainly have woken them—hunters are light sleepers._

_“I know what I’m doing, Dean.”_

_“I’m not gonna logic you, okay?  I’m just saying don’t… just ‘cause.  I’m_ asking _you_ not _to._ That’s _it.”_

_“I don’t understand.”_

_“Look, next to Sam, you and Bobby are the closest things I have to family—that you are like a brother to me.  So, if I’m asking you not to do something… you got to trust me, man.”_

_I consider this for a moment.  He considers me a brother.  Does he really?  Because the way he’s treated me for the past few months paints a different story.  As much as I don’t like to admit it to myself, he really has only called when he needed something.  He doesn’t really care about my predicament in Heaven for my sake.  If it were Sam, he wouldn’t have sat on the sidelines.  He would have found a way to help, because he always exceeds expectations._

_But he didn’t.  Because I am not his brother, and I am not_ like _his brother, either.  He doesn’t trust me, so how can he ask me to trust him?_

_“Or what?” I ask quietly._

_He looks surprised by my response.  “Or I’ll have to do what I have to do to stop you.”_

_“You can’t, Dean,” I say.  “You’re just a man.  I’m an angel.”_

_“I don’t know.  I’ve taken some pretty big fish,” he says, full of confidence._

_I only wish that that confidence were placed in me.  That he could put his faith in me.  It hurts to see the change in his expression, and the way he utters these words.  He is looking at me just like the monsters that he’s hunted, the “pretty big fish” that he’s “taken.”  Now, I am apparently no different from Azazel, or Lilith, or Lucifer._

_“I’m sorry, Dean.”_

_“Well, I’m sorry too, then.”_

_And it hurts too much for me to stay there, so I take flight.  I can’t deal with this anymore.  Why would Dean be_ so _sure that what I am doing is wrong?  I rebelled for him, a time that now feels like it was so long ago.  I rebelled because he told me that it was the right thing to do.  I didn’t understand what he meant when he said that paradise on Earth would be wrong, but I trusted him._

_Now?_

_Now, I know all of the consequences if I don’t do this, if I lose to Raphael.  My own torment I can handle.  I’ve been tortured before, and I know what it is like to be torn to shreds and then put back together only to be ripped apart again.  But the consequences for the world will be catastrophic.  The apocalypse that Dean insisted we must avert would happen.  Why can’t he see that that is the reason why I chose to work with Crowley?_

_Is there a reason why he’s changed his mind?  Why is there this double standard when it comes to working with demons?  Even a few months ago, we worked with Meg and her demon followers, and Sam and Dean seemed to think nothing of it.  Sam was soulless, so that could be his excuse.  But what about Dean?_

_Frustration makes my head pound, and I fly up to Heaven, arriving in a snowy realm.  I don’t know where the owner of this realm is, but the place seems peaceful._

_I take a seat on a small stone bench and look up at the sky, and then I stare down at my hands._

_For the last time, I think of my Father and begin to pray._

_And maybe, finally, He will answer._


	35. Don't Fear the Reaper

I fly toward the presidential suite where I know Crowley has been staying—senses tell me that he’s there right now.  Balthazar isn’t nearby, and neither is Meg or Bela.  Why is he alone?

I land in the room and see Crowley standing by the window, looking out at the view.

“Hello, Cas,” he says.  “About time you showed up.  It’s getting late.”

“Tell me about what’s been so urgent.”

“Oh, nothing much,” Crowley replies, and sarcasm is _dripping_ from his voice.  “Just that conspiracy theories have spread through the government like wildfire in the last few hours, and that the United States is already prepared to launch a nuke—not at the suspected Soviet nuclear plant that’s been built on their soil, but at Russia itself.”

“When—”

“Oh, there are fingers hovering over buttons as we speak.”

“Why didn’t you come to me with this earlier?” I demand.

“You can’t blame me,” he responds.  “You said not to bother you until it was urgent.”

“This _is_ urgent.  Surely you know that the world going up in flames takes precedent over a conversation I was having.”

“Oh, a conversation, was that what you were off doing?  I’m sorry, but you neglected to tell me that ‘til this very moment!” Crowley snaps.

“Fine.  What’s the target?  Give me information—now,” I say.

“St. Petersburg,” Crowley says.  “The nuke will be going up any second now.  Balthazar said that he’d handle it.”

“He’d _what?_ ”

Crowley just shrugs.

“If the nuclear war starts, or if Balthazar dies because of this, I _will_ kill you.”

Crowley sighs.  “Just go, Cas.  If you don’t succeed in stopping the humans from destroying each other, then the Leviathans will be coming after me next anyway, and you’ll be the least of my worries.”

I _hate_ how calmly he dismisses my threat, but he speaks truth.  I take off and appear in Russia, circling high enough so that I can see all of St. Petersburg.  But I don’t sense any active nuclear warheads nearby.  And where is Balthazar?

I extend my senses and realize that he’s hovering near Iceland—he’s planning to head off the missile before it even reaches Europe.  As I move toward him, I _feel_ the blast-off of the missile from an air base in Massachusetts.

Hurrying toward the source of the disturbance, I can tell when the missile is thrown off-course, yanked upwards, and I _know_ that something is wrong.

I reach Balthazar in time to see him tugging the missile at an upwards slant, spreading his wings in preparation to take the bomb with him into another dimension.  But I cannot confidently predict how the nuclear weapon will work in another dimension, so I reach a hand out, grounding Balthazar.

He stares at me, registering my presence with wide eyes as we spiral upward with the nuke.  I grasp his shoulder and tug hard, angling us downward, toward a huge expanse of blue that I identify as the Atlantic Ocean, and I quickly consider the situation.

If we continue on this downward trajectory, then the weapon will detonate somewhere in the middle of that ocean.  Sea life will suffer hugely from this, but we can limit the damage by suppressing nuclear radiation.  Provided that there are no ships in the middle of the Atlantic right now, there will be no human casualties—it has been aimed away from any potential targets.

I shift my grip to Balthazar’s arm, forcing him to release the missile and allow it to fall on its own.  We fly out of range and watch as the weapon hits the water.  The ensuing explosion is powerful, and I strain to keep the blast radius as small as possible.  There is still about a five mile radius of complete destruction, with about another fifteen miles of moderate to light damage extending out from the center ring.

Even as Balthazar wipes away the mushroom cloud as best he can, I sense the release of another missile, this one from the opposite direction of the United States.  The Leviathans must have worked on the Russians—or some other eastern European country—as well, convinced them to launch a missile at the United States, for that seems to be the target of this new weapon.

Beside me, Balthazar has sensed the new threat as well, but before I can stop him, he vanishes.

I curse him for taking advantage of my distraction and leave the blast site alone—it’ll be pointless trying to curtail radiation damage to the fish in the sea when all of New York City, or worse, Washington D.C., has been leveled by this missile.

I follow my brother to the missile and reach him as he’s tugging it upwards.  I consider dragging it down again, but there is no convenient body of water in which we can throw this missile—we’re just over Belarus.  I consider the Baltic Sea, but it would be all too easy for the Leviathans to convince countries around that region—Sweden, Finland, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland—that Russia was attempting to intimidate them with this misfire.

So we ride the missile upwards, mile after mile until we’re near sixty miles up.

I start to pull Balthazar away, but then we hit the edge of Earth’s atmosphere, and I sense the impending explosion the instant before it happens.  Instead of using the split-second I have to wing out of there, I use it to rip Balthazar off the missile, spinning around to put myself between him and the danger.

As the explosion hits my back, I wrap my wings around my brother protectively.

It feels like obliteration.

Like I’ve been shredded.

But I know I haven’t, because the next feeling I register is that of rapid falling.  And then I feel Balthazar come to, still pressed against my chest, wings crushed by what’s left of mine.  In such close contact, I can sense the panic rising in his Grace, and I am relieved that he is alive.

Balthazar curses loudly as we hurtle back down toward Earth, and I feel him struggling against my hold.  But I can’t force myself to let go—I don’t know what will happen if I let him go.  Will he go after another missile, as stupidly as he did this time?  What if he still doesn’t know when to let go?

Folded up in my arms, my wings, I know for sure that he is safe.

I’m dimly aware that he’s now calling out for help, praying, demanding.

I think of Dean regretfully, and selfishly hope that if I come back from this death, the Leviathans will already be gone, and I won’t have to fight anymore.

Then there’s the feeling of all-encompassing warmth, and I slip away.

* * *

_I’ve just left the mental institution when I hear Sam’s voice and fly to him, cloaked._

_“—look, I don’t know if you’re in on this whole Ben-Lisa thing, but if you have any heart whatsoever, bring ‘em back to us, man.”_

_Ben and Lisa?  I haven’t seen them in some time—there was no reason to watch over them as soon as Dean was gone.  Has something happened to them?_

_“C’mon.  Please,” Sam is still going on.  “I am begging you.  I am begging you, do you understand?”_

_He looks around, but I do not reveal myself.  I do not work miracles, and I cannot return Lisa and Ben to them when I did not take them.  Sam scoffs and turns away, and despite his lack of faith, I feel that I should investigate._

_I enter Crowley’s lab a moment later._

_“Sweetie,” Crowley says, looking up from an open book.  “You look tense.”_

_“You took Ben and Lisa.”_

_“Oh.  That.”_

_“I told you—”_

_“Not to touch Sam and Dean,” Crowley says.  “And I’ve respected that.  I’m merely exploiting the obvious loophole.  As long as I have the woman and the boy, your fop-coiffed little heroes will be scouring the earth for_ them _, therefore not you, and not me.  Everybody wins.”_

_“You should’ve talked to me first,” I say angrily._

_“I’d rather ask forgiveness than permission,” Crowley says, chuckling._

_“Where are they, Crowley?” I demand.  The demon pinches his fingers together and runs them along his lips before dipping them into his pocket.  I don’t understand the motion.  “You are not to harm them, do you understand me?”_

_“You know what?  You’re maxed out on putting humans out of bounds.  I’ll do with them as I please.  Want to stop me?  Go find friggin’ Purgatory!”_

_Then I hear Balthazar speaking my name in Enochian, calling me to him._

_“Call on the bat-phone?” Crowley says.  “Never call during business hours, do they?”_

_This demon is ridiculously difficult to comprehend.  “I’ll be back,” I say before taking flight._

_I allow Balthazar’s voice to guide me to his location._

_“Cas, Cas, Cas.  So good of you to come,” he says when I arrive._

_“Balthazar.  Why’d you summon me here?” I ask, looking around._

_“Can I ask you a direct question?” he asks, turning to face me—I’d landed behind him in a stretch of woods._

_“Of course.”_

_“Are you in figrante with the King of Hades?” he asks._

_I squint at him—how did he hear of this?  “Of course not.”_

_Balthazar laughs.  “Always were such a terrible liar.  So it’s true.  All right then, why?”_

_“It’s a means to an end,” I say, appealing to the soldier in my brother.  “Balthazar, you understand that.”_

_“Oh, absolutely,” he says, and I feel a bit of relief that he understands.  Then he continues, “But what’s the end here exactly?  You know, raid Purgatory, snatch up all the souls?”_

_“Win the war.”_

_“And I can only assume that you’d be the vessel, correct?  Suck up all those souls into yourself?  All that power?”_

_“It’s the only way,” I say._

_“Or too much juice for you, in which case you explode, taking a substantial chunk of the planet along with you.”_

_“That won’t happen.”_

_“Sure, sure.  Of course,” Balthazar says, scoffing.  “Just—just tell me that it’s entirely risk-free.”_

_“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you, but I need to know.  Are you with me or not?”_

_We stare at each other for a long moment, calculating.  I wish I could see into his mind, but he would know of the intrusion as soon as it happened._

_Finally, my brother chuckles.  “Ah.  You know, you may be certifiable, but… fine.  In for a penny, in for a pound.”_

_Sweet relief floods me at the familiar phrase.  I have not been left all alone.  Dean, Sam, and Bobby could not understand, but I should have known that Balthazar would stand by me.  We have always supported each other in the past—why should that change now?_

_“How’d you hear about this anyway?” I ask him._

_“Oh, your howler monkeys of course,” he says.  “See, they’re just a touch worked up about that kidnapping business, you know?”_

_“Yes, that,” I say.  “Crowley went behind my back.”_

_“Of course he did.  I know you could never put your precious Dean in such a position,” Balthazar replies.  “But it’s already been done.  And knowing the way Dean thinks, he blames this as much on you as he does Crowley.  I advise against visiting him.”_

_How did he know that my next stop would be to go talk to Dean?  “I… I need to tell him that it wasn’t my intention,” I say.  “I may have chosen a path that he does not approve of, but I would not intentionally hurt him.  He should know this.”_

_Balthazar shakes his head.  “Suit yourself.  I won’t stop you.”_

_I smile.  “You wouldn’t be able to stop me if you wanted to,” I respond in jest._

_My brother smiles as well, but it seems forced.  This is troubling._

* * *

I wake to an acute feeling of unease churning in my gut, and the back-and-forth sensation of pacing.

Dean.  These sensations are what Dean is experiencing.  Dean is pacing uneasily.

I struggle to open my eyes, but an unnatural weight is resting over me, preventing me from showing any signs of wakefulness.  I cannot move.

“You said he’d be awake within a day, Gabriel,” I hear Balthazar saying.  “It’s been more than a day.”

“Hey, you have no right to get all pissy, little brother,” Gabriel says.  “If it weren’t for you, Castiel wouldn’t be lying here right now.”

It’s silent for a moment, and I test myself, trying to reach out with my mind.  I’m blocked.  What is wrong?  I struggle against whatever it is that’s holding me back, but it’s solid.  There’s no way out against the barrier—I’m still too weak.  Retreating, I take stock of my condition.  As weak as my wings feel, they seem to be intact.  My Grace feels damaged, but recovery should not take much more than a few hours.

I realize that I can’t hear anyone’s footsteps, but the feeling of pacing is still there.  So Dean is not in the room with me.  This troubles me, but if Balthazar and Gabriel are both here, I should be safe.

Then a hand—I recognize it as Balthazar’s—rests on my forehead.  It draws back rapidly.

“He’s awake,” Balthazar says in an accusatory tone.

“Yes, I know.  I’m the one keeping him under,” Gabriel replies, and I am confused.  Why would he…?

“Why?” Balthazar asks, voicing my question.

“I’m letting him stew a bit.  That’s what he gets for not calling me immediately,” Gabriel says.

The pressure lifts, and I start to jerk upright.  Balthazar’s there in an instant, pressing against my shoulders firmly.  I should be able to overpower him, but I am still recovering, and he manages to push me back down onto the mattress beneath me with little effort.

I look around and note that this is the room that Dean claimed for himself at Bobby’s house, that I’m lying in his bed.  Then I turn my head to the side to look at Gabriel.

He meets my eyes.  “You know, if you’d just called me, we could have stopped all this before it got all nasty.  Hell, we coulda taken down both of those nukes without breaking a sweat.  You don’t even know just how powerful you are, do you?”

“This can wait until later,” Balthazar says.  “Cas only just regained consciousness and he—”

“No, we’re doing this now,” Gabriel says.  “I may have said that I wanted to help you out, bro, but I’ve got better things to do and better ways to help than to stick around in this shitty little house and play nurse, trying to fix you up.  So—”

The door swings open, and Gabriel pauses, turning to look at the newcomer.

“Shut up, Gabriel,” Dean says.

“I’m not even—”

“I’m serious—shut up,” Dean repeats.  “I want both of you two outta this room.”

Neither angel makes any move to leave, and Dean huffs exasperatedly.

“Dude, I’ll banish your asses.  I’m not even kidding.”

“Then your poor boyfriend would be banished as well,” Gabriel responds.

But he flies away, and Dean apparently doesn’t feel any need to shout a retort at him.  Instead, he fixes his eyes on Balthazar, who still hasn’t moved.  They stare each other down for a moment, but Balthazar is the one who looks away first, turning to look down at me.

“I’ll be back,” he says.

I nod, and he takes off.

“Cas,” Dean says, sitting down on the side of the bed and taking my hand.  “Fuck, you scared me.  And fucking Gabriel wouldn’t let me stay in here, said that I’d be _in his way_ , or whatever, and I didn’t know if you were gonna wake up or not, and I couldn’t—”

“Dean, I’m fine.”

But Dean continues as though he hasn’t heard me, “—feel you there anymore, and I… I thought… it was like a piece of myself _died_ when you vanished like that.  I felt it when you got hit, and then suddenly I was on the ground, but I felt like I was still falling, and then you—you were just _gone_ —” Here he stops speaking, releases my hand, and slides off the bed so that he’s on his knees.

“Dean, what are you doing?” I ask as he shrugs out of his shirt and then quickly tugs his undershirt off over his head.  “Dean?”

“Shh,” he responds.

Then he picks my hand up, and I know that he wants to really feel me there.  I shake him off and move my hand so that it rests on his shoulder.  Heat flares up from the contact, and Dean’s eyes fall shut.

“You’re alive,” he breathes.

“Yes, Dean.  I’m alive.”

We stay this way for a long time, just reaffirming our bond.  I occasionally get flashes of the pain Dean felt when I was falling.  But the glimpses into the void that he felt instead when I disappeared… those are far worse.  I’ve never felt such an excruciating emptiness before in my life, not even when Dean and I hadn’t yet completed the bond.  It suddenly isn’t so difficult to understand why Balthazar would have given anything for Chronos to turn back time and allow him to change Leliel’s path.

There’s a light knock on the open door, and Dean twists his torso slightly so that he can see the doorway.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam says.  “You feeling any better?”

“Yes,” I say.  “Thank you, Sam.”

He hovers awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, and Dean lets out a sigh, brushing my hand off his shoulder with a regretful look in my direction.  He picks up his discarded shirts and begins redressing himself.

“Where’s uh… where did Gabriel and Balthazar go?” Sam asks.

“They were being douchebags.  I told them to fuck off,” Dean says.

The corners of Sam’s lips turn down into a frown.  “Balthazar was still recovering, wasn’t he?”

I instantly feel a shiver of worry, and Dean’s hand reaches for mine without any conscious thought on his part, just an urge to soothe.  “Balthazar looked fine to me,” I say.  “Was he injured by the blast?”

Dean chuckles.  “You uh, sort of crushed one of his wings grabbing onto him.”

I grimace, remembering the thought that I had to hold onto my brother as tightly as possible to make sure he wouldn’t try to go after more missiles.  I hadn’t meant to hurt him…

“If you’re worried, Sam, you can call him to you,” I say.

Sam’s eyes flit to me for a moment, and I can sense that he’s thinking hard.  Perhaps he’s already guessed that I’ve spoken to Balthazar about him.  “Nah, I trust you,” he replies.

Sensing that it’s time to change the subject, I ask, “Have you made any progress with researching?  I understand I’ve missed out on about a day.”

“Uh, no.  No, not really.  And Dean was pretty much worse than useless while you were still out cold,” Sam says as he finally steps into the room.  Dean turns to him, clearly about to defend himself, but Sam quickly adds, “Not that I blame him.  I don’t know how your uh, angel-bond thing works, but… it was freaky when Dean collapsed like that.”

“Yeah,” Bobby agrees, appearing just outside the doorway.  “We couldn’t figure out what the hell was wrong with him, but when he finally started talking again, he didn’t say much more than ‘Cas is gone’ and ‘we gotta find him now.’”

I look at Dean apologetically.

“Don’t you _dare_ say you’re sorry, Cas,” Dean says before I can speak—he must be able to sense a hint of my apology already.  “Look, you and Balthazar just prevented a _nuclear war_.  The last thing you should be doing is apologizing to me.”

“I hurt you.”

“Not intentionally,” Dean says.

“Yeah Cas, none of us is blaming you.  You know that, don’t you?” Sam says.

“Yes, of course, but—”

“But nothing,” Dean interrupts.  “Gabe said that even if you did wake up, it’d take probably another day or so for you to get back on your feet again, so just rest here.  We’ll be around.”

“I will be fine in a few hours.”

“No, we’re listening to the archangel on this one,” Dean insists.

“I _am_ an archangel,” I say.

“The _other_ archangel, then—the one that agrees with me.”

“Cas, if you don’t want to feel useless, we could bring some books up for you, so you can help us research a bit,” Sam offers.

“Yeah, what do you say?” Dean says.  “I’ll stay here with you.”

I get the sense that he’s doing this as much to accompany me as he is to keep an eye on me.  He thinks I’ll try to leave before he sees fit.

But I suppose his worry is justified.  I need to speak to Crowley and get a sense of just how precarious the situation is.  Only one missile each was fired this time.  There was no harm done, but each side has seen that the other is willing to fire—I can’t see how that would help matters.  And if they fire multiple missiles simultaneously next time, we won’t be able to stop them.  After all, we are only three angels.  The resulting destruction would be devastating.

I’m not thinking along the right lines, then.  I need to speak with Chronos, not Crowley.  We don’t have enough time to attempt to stabilize the political situation, and we certainly don’t have time to find another method for stopping time.

“Cas?” Dean prods, and he looks a little worried.

“Sorry—I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“The political instability,” I say.  “I should speak with Crowley as soon as possible.”

“Okay, great.  We can summon him here—”

“Not now,” Sam says firmly.

“Yes, I know.  I have not yet recovered enough to fly without damaging my wings.  They are still very sensitive.”

“Well, yeah,” Sam says, “considering there were holes torn in them and all.”

It’s strange to think that my wings were really ripped up, but the tenderness in them does indicate that patches of them had to be regrown.  Gabriel must have had a lot of work to do.  _Thank you_ , I pray to him.  He doesn’t respond, but I know that he’s heard it.

“Okay, so you’ll stay here and rest for now,” Dean says, sitting back down on the bed.

I glance toward the door and see that Bobby’s gone, and Sam’s turning to leave.

“I’ll bring some books up,” Sam says.

“Thanks, man,” Dean says.  His hand rests over mine again, but he’s smiling up at his brother.

Sam’s lips curl into a pleasantly surprised smile—the brothers don’t ordinarily thank each other for things.  “Yeah, no problem.”

Then Sam’s heading back downstairs, and Dean lets his eyes drop to the ground.  A smile lingers on his face as he turns to face me, and I know what I have to do.

Sam won’t let Dean die, and Dean won’t let Sam die.  Neither of them will be happy if I die, but the difference is that they can’t stop me.

But then I recall the flashes of hurt, of icy cold vacancy that Dean had felt.  The thought he’d had that the whole _world_ had been emptied out, because I’d gone missing.

I remember the pained grimace on Balthazar’s face when Leliel died, and how it turned to determination when he thought of Chronos and set out to search for him.  We’d all thought he would never find him, but he eventually did.  And I remember the deep depression Balthazar had fallen into when I’d finally taken him away from the God of Time, talked him down.

Could I really do that to Dean?  All that pain…

But even as I consider not doing this, I know that it is the only path that remains.  I am the only one of the three of us who can die.  Dean will survive through the pain because that is the type of person he is.  He’ll think he can’t— _insist_ that he can’t do it, but he can.  I know this because he was able to endure Sam’s fall into the cage with Lucifer.  He’ll do it if Sam asks it of him.

“Cas, what are you thinking?” Dean suddenly asks.

“Hmm?” I say, and I realize that he looks troubled.

“It just… feels like you’re concentrating really hard on something, but I can’t tell what.  What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” I reply.  “My mind was just… wandering.”

“Mhmm,” he grunts, and I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

Then Sam walks into the room again, this time laden with books.  “Here you go,” he says, dropping them on the ground by Dean’s feet.  “Have fun.”

“ _Oh_ yeah.  Fun,” Dean says sarcastically.

Sam leaves the room, chuckling, and Dean picks up one of the books.  Then he looks at me and frowns.

“Here, I’m gonna help you sit up, okay?”

“I can do it on my own,” I say, starting to lift up my torso.

But Dean immediately reaches out to support me, and to make him feel more secure, I decide not to push him away.  He lifts up the pillows behind me and arranges them so that they’ll cushion my back against the wall.

When I’m settled in, Dean picks up two of the books on the ground and holds them out to me.

“Here, pick one.”


	36. When Love Must Die

Several hours later, I flex my wings for what feels like the millionth time, and they finally feel healthy enough for sustained flight.  Now all I need to do is get out of here.

I am fairly certain that Dean won’t agree to let me out of his sight, not without a fight.  I could try to trick him, but I am not skilled in deception.

“You’re zoning out again,” Dean observes from his seat beside me—he moved to sit next to me just over two hours ago so that he could lean on the wall as well.

“Yes, I… find it difficult to concentrate,” I lie.

He frowns.  “Maybe you should stop for a bit.”

“Maybe.”

“Hey uh, Balthazar said he’d be back, wouldn’t he?” Dean recalls.  “I don’t like him all that much, but… you could talk to him for a while, if it’d help you relax.”

I smile.  “I’ve been delaying his arrival because you dislike him.”

Dean’s lips curve downward into another frown.  “Cas, you’re the injured one here.  I should be the one accommodating you, not the other way around.  Tell him he can come.  If I get too annoyed, I’ll just wait in the hall for a minute.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

He huffs.  “You shouldn’t be thanking me, Cas.  God, sometimes I wonder how the hell I can forget that you’re not human.”

I just smile.  _Balthazar, please come.  And when you arrive, ask to speak with me privately._

Balthazar lands in the next instant, and Dean jerks beside me.

“Dude.  A little warning?”

“I’d like to speak with my brother alone,” Balthazar says.

Dean raises an eyebrow.  “Geez.  Not even a hello, huh?”

“Hello, Dean.  You’ll excuse me if I’m not particularly happy to see you, as you’re the one who’s been keeping me from my brother for the past several hours.”

“That was not his fault,” I say.

“Yes, of course,” Balthazar says, rolling his eyes.  His next words are directed toward Dean—“Do you see this?  He’s always been defending you, right from the start.  If you were me, you wouldn’t be able to stand you, either.”

Dean laughs at this.  “Sure.  Cas, you gonna be all right?” he says, swinging his legs off the bed and getting to his feet.

“No,” Balthazar says before I can answer.  “I’m going to stab him twenty-seven times with a serrated blade, for a laugh.  Of course he’s going to be fine.  Now will you get out?”

“Dean, please don’t,” I say before he can retort—I know that whatever was about to come out of his mouth can’t have been polite.  He restrains himself and exits the room stiffly.

_Tell him he’s a dick for me_ , he projects, and I chuckle.

“Cas,” Balthazar says, shaking his head.  “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Yes, I apologize.  Dean also thinks I should have let you visit earlier.”

“Not that.  Just—you shouldn’t have—”

“Shouldn’t have saved your life?” I say.  “I know the amount of damage my Grace sustained.  It would have been enough to bring you right to the brink of death.  I may not have been able to bring you back, and Gabriel probably wouldn’t have been quick enough to come.”

“Yes, but—”

“I could not let you die, just as you would never let me die,” I respond.

Balthazar lets his eyes drop away from mine.  “But I _have_ let you die, before.”

“I… I’ve _killed_ you before.  Do you understand?  I _cannot_ let you die.  Not when there’s anything I can do to stop it,” I say.

“I suppose we’re even, now.”  He shakes his head again and mutters, more to himself than me, “But who’s keeping score?”

“Balthazar, I need your help.”

“Anything.”

“I want you to go up to Heaven and ask for help from the remaining angels to stop missiles.  Check with Crowley first, but if the humans are still planning to go into nuclear war, we will need as much assistance as possible to stop them from blowing each other up.”

“I can do that.”

“There’s also the possibility that the Leviathans will simply start devouring humans.  It will take some time for them to destroy everything, but if they do, try not to get in their way.  The wings of regular angels will probably be burned irreparably by their tentacles.  Mine are the wings of an archangel, but healing from the contact still took some time.”

“Contact?  Oh, right—Dick Roman visited,” Balthazar says, nodding.  “I’ll try my best to stay out of the way, but if they really do start attacking humans—”

“You could also transport hunters to fight off the Leviathans, but you’ll have to make sure that they’re armed first, and—”

“Wait, Cas.  Wait,” Balthazar interrupts.  “Why are you telling me all of this?  It sounds so much like you’re giving your last orders.”

I hesitate for a moment before saying, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Don’t lie to me—don’t you think I can tell the difference, brother?  What are you thinking?  Why do you think you’re going to die?” he demands.

The look on his face brooks no argument.  I look down.  “I… have Sam and Dean explained the problem with Chronos to you?”

“Yes,” he replies.  “It took you over a day to wake, Cas, and I spent a good part of that time unable to fly.  I asked them what they were doing as they waited, and they told me that they were researching for an alternative because Chronos wanted—” Balthazar stops speaking suddenly as the decision I must have made occurs to him.  “ _No_.”

“It is the only way.”

“No, no, no,” Balthazar says, shaking his head.  “Do you remember the last time you said those five words to me?  You were trying to justify swallowing millions of nuclear reactors, Cas.  You achieved your goal, but don’t you remember everything that happened afterwards?”

“This is different,” I say.  “As long as the ritual is performed while time is stopped, the Leviathans will be ripped away from the Earth, and we can clean up the political mess easily enough.  The only consequence will be—”

“You, dead,” Balthazar interrupts.  “I won’t stand for it.  It’s not… not going to happen.  I won’t let you.”

“Balthazar.”

“No, I mean it.  I won’t watch you die.  I had to watch from Heaven once, and I will never do it again.  You remember when I betrayed you?  When I chose to reveal your location to Dean and Bobby?”

“Yes,” I say, pained.  “Of course I do—I killed you for it.”

“Don’t you know why I did it?  I didn’t want to see you die because there was too much for you to take in.  I betrayed you for your own good,” Balthazar says.  “So if you think I’m going to just stand by and let you march to your death—”

“Balthazar, _please_.”

His words grind to a halt, and he looks at me intensely, clenching and unclenching his jaw.  Then he shakes his head.  “No.  I _can’t_ , Cas.  If you’re intent on doing this, you’ll have to kill me first.”

“I won’t kill you, but I must do this,” I respond.  “There is no other way that is quick enough.  Don’t you understand?  We don’t have _time_ for the Winchesters to find another way.  Gabriel told me that he’s keeping an eye on the missile crisis so far, but there’s only so much we’ll be able to do if the humans go into full-on nuclear war.  I _have_ to do this, brother.  Please understand.”

“What about Dean?” Balthazar asks desperately.  “How can you—I know how it feels to lose a mate to death.  You’ve seen how it is.  How can you possibly put him through that?  Don’t you love him?”

“Don’t make this harder for me.”

“I’m trying to make it _impossible_ for you,” he responds.

“You can’t,” I say.  “Please, Balthazar.  You must know that I am the one who must do this.  I was the one who let them in.  It is only right that I’m the one who dies to force them back out.”

We’re silent for a moment, and I will him to see things my way.  He must understand, but he just isn’t willing to accept it yet.  I can guess what he feels—I wouldn’t want him to die either.  But this is unavoidable.  The sooner he accepts this, the sooner we can rid the world of Leviathans—the sooner I can fix my mistake.

“Will… will you come back again, this time?” he asks softly.  “Gabriel… he said that you defied Death—”

“No,” I reply, shaking my head.  “My destiny has been fulfilled.  I… I think I’m really finished, this time.”

Balthazar blinks, and a tear slides from his eye.  Even as the triumph of his surrender sinks in—he’s finally realized that there will be no stopping me—I feel a sharp pang in my chest.  I lean toward him and brush the tear away, spreading my newly healed wings and curling them around him in a gesture of comfort.

“Brother, I’m tired,” I mutter.  “This is not all bad.  I will finally be able to rest.  I will be at peace.”

“Don’t _lie_ to me,” he says, anguished.  “If you’re going to let yourself die like this, at least have the decency to tell me the truth.  You won’t be at peace.  You’ll be _gone_.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he responds.  “I’ve been there before.  You… you haven’t.  Not all the way, at least.”

I close my eyes.  “It will be all right.  I just… after everything is over, I have one final favor to ask of you.”

“I already know—”

“Yes, but just let me… let me say it aloud.  So that there can be no misunderstanding,” I say, opening my eyes in time to see him nod.  I continue, “Please… watch over Dean for me.  Sam will be there for him as well, but I… just, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“I promise I will.”

“Thank you, brother.”

Then we hear Gabriel.  _Hey, knuckleheads.  Two Soviet missiles flying over Germany as we speak.  And… a third just taking off from California, toward Russia’s giant backside.  Help me out, eh?_

“Go, Balthazar.  Ask Eremiel to come.  Even if no other angels help, he will.”

“And you?” he asks.

“I should be going.”

“What about Dean?”

“I’ll seal the door to this room and tell him to give me some more time to speak with you.  He is currently at ease downstairs, with Sam and Bobby,” I report.  I’ve never been more thankful that our connection is unequal—he is clearly not as attuned to my emotions as I am to his.

“Is this the last I’ll see of you?” my brother asks.

_Hello?!  Cuttin’ it close, you two!_ Gabriel calls.

“I’ll make sure to say goodbye to you,” I say.

Balthazar stares at me for a long moment, eyes boring into mine, and I can tell he’s staring past them, looking at me.  Memorizing _me_ , because he knows that I’m lying.  But he won’t force me to tell the truth this time—the lie is easier.

“I’ll see you again, then,” he says with a smile, and when he says it, I can almost believe it.

And then he takes flight.

* * *

“Back so soon?” Chronos says as I land in his temple.

It was easy to convince Dean that I would need a length of time alone with Balthazar.  I told him that Balthazar discovered a method to speed up my recovery, but it would take up most of the night.  And more importantly, we could not be interrupted.

He couldn’t have known that Balthazar had gone already, as I related all of this to him mentally.  He’ll be sleeping downstairs on the couch tonight, and while I feel guilty forcing him to sleep uncomfortably, I know that he has done so before and fared well enough.  The important thing is that he feels just as at-ease now as he did when I spoke to him moments ago, and I hope it will stay that way.

“So, which will be sacrificed?” the god asks as he turns to face me.

“I will.”

His brow furrows.  “Castiel, I believe I told you that it would have to be Sam or Dean.”

“But I would suffice too, as long as the ritual was completed quickly enough,” I say.

“Yes, but are you willing to take that chance?  If we do this once and fail, the Leviathans will know what we are trying to do, and the hunt for me will begin.  And then one of the two mortals that you are trying to protect will have to die anyway.”

“They won’t,” I say.  “I can ensure that the ritual will be performed at optimum speed.”

“This will be more difficult for me—”

“I’m sure you’ll manage.”

His eyes narrow.  “You are not being very considerate of the effort that stopping time takes.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’d do well to respect a god, Castiel.”

“Yes, and you’d do well to remember that I am the only reason why you are still a living god,” I respond.

Chronos glares at me for a moment, but I am not lying.

After the death of Leliel, I watched over Balthazar very carefully to make sure he wouldn’t kill himself.  It wasn’t unlikely, as the mating bond between angels is so great that killing one is usually enough to force the other to commit suicide.

But Balthazar always had a huge drive to survive, so he wouldn’t take his own life—of that I was sure.  We believed that angels couldn’t be brought back, so the only option for him was to stop Leliel from dying in the first place.  While I was on mission with Uriel, he slipped out of Heaven and came down to Earth to find Chronos.

Upon returning to find him gone, our garrison was sent out to capture him and bring him back to be punished for leaving Heaven without explicit orders.  As I knew exactly what he would do, I was the first to locate him.  When I arrived, Chronos had already made his decision clear—he wouldn’t help Balthazar.  They’d been locked in combat, and it had taken more words than I was comfortable with to dissuade Balthazar from killing the god.

So in this argument, I have the upper ground, and we both know it.

“Yes, of course,” Chronos finally concedes.  “Your hotheaded brother was most unreasonable.”

“He was grieving,” I say.  It’s an excuse, but it’s the truth, too.

Balthazar had been very difficult indeed to talk down.  He kept insisting that if he just had a chance to talk to Leliel, warn the younger version of him of what was to come, he would be able to change everything.  Chronos told him it was impossible and that he should know better, and the situation became dangerous very quickly.  It is not hard to say what would have happened if I hadn’t arrived.

“I suppose I owe you a favor, then,” Chronos says quietly.  “But are you sure you want to use it on this?  If all is ready, we can begin the process of stopping time in about half an hour.”

“Why half an hour?”

Chronos looks at the bright sky outside for a moment before glancing at me.  “Do you really want me to explain it all to you?  It should be none of your concern.”

“When would be the next appropriate time to execute the process?” I ask.

“The day after tomorrow.”

I frown.  “Then we should do it tonight—now,” I correct myself.  It is nighttime in America but here it is still afternoon.

Chronos sighs heavily.  “Allow me to impress upon you just how imprudent this course of action is.”

“I am aware.”

“You should speak with those who are to perform the ritual in the time that we have left.  Have them prepare.  They will not have very much time before my power gives out.”

I nod and frown as I feel the takeoff of a missile from somewhere to the northeast.  “I will warn them.”

“Good.  I will draw on you when you have only a little time left,” Chronos says.  “In the meantime, I will prepare for my own ritual.  If you are not here when the time comes, I will summon you by force.  It will be unpleasant.”

“I understand.”

“Go, then.”

I watch as he turns back to face the altar before him.  He lowers himself onto his knees and presses his palms together.  I spread my wings and leave him to his prayers.

I reach Heaven a moment later and locate Michael.

“I expected you,” he says quietly when I arrive.  “You’re going to die.”

“Yes.”

“Have you told Dean yet?”

“No.”

“You wish for me to perform the ritual.”

“Yes, if you could,” I say.  He says nothing.  “Please,” I add as an afterthought.

He’s quiet for a moment longer.  “I suppose I could,” he says.  “But I should not.  You shouldn’t ask God to interfere, Castiel.”

“You are not yet God, brother.  Perhaps you could… do me one favor.  This is the only thing I ask of you.  If you do not want to perform the ritual, could you at least guide the Winchesters?”

Michael considers me quietly and then nods.  “You’ve done very much for me, and it would be ungrateful to deny your last request when you’ve chosen to die for all of us.  Very well, then—I will appear to them when it is time to begin the ritual, and I will walk them through the steps.”

“Thank you, Michael.”

He gives me a sympathetic smile.  “Say a proper goodbye to Dean, all right?  He deserves at least that much.”

“I will.”

* * *

_I land in a garage and see a demon strapped to a chair in a Devil’s trap._

_“I promise you, pal.  Start talking,” Dean is saying as he walks into the Devil’s trap, “or I swear, I will rip your skin off, strip by strip.  And then I’m gonna kill you.”  He leans in close.  “And then I’m gonna do it to the next demon.  You hear me?”_

_“Yeah,” the demon responds, and his eyes switch to black.  “I hear you.”_

_Dean is caught off-guard, and as the demon throws Dean backwards against a large, black van, I see the tiny break in the red paint of the Devil’s trap.  The demon breaks out of his restraints and approaches Dean, placing his hand around his neck.  I need to act._

_“So you can stop talking, you miserable sack,” the demon snarls._

_I shift so that I’m right behind the demon and place my hand on the back of his bald head, smiting him.  He burns out of the human body, but his empty host is already dead, and it collapses to the side.  Dean looks down at the body and then up at me, shocked._

_The look of surprise on his face is so familiar, and for a split second, I can pretend that I’ve just saved him from a demon on a regular hunt.  But then the shuttered look comes over his eyes again, and the illusion shatters right before my eyes._

_“I didn’t ask for your help,” he says as he catches his breath._

_“Well, regardless, you’re welcome,” I answer._

_“Why are you here?” he asks, walking past me._

_I don’t know what to say.  “I had no idea Crowley would take Lisa and Ben.”_

_“Yeah right,” Dean says, and his tone of voice is somehow painful to me._

_“You don’t believe me,” I observe, turning to look at his back._

_“I don’t believe a word that’s coming out of your mouth,” he responds, and he also turns to look back at me.  The smile on his face looks so wrong, so out of place, so jarring when paired with the tone of his voice, and I have to look away for a moment to collect myself._

_But I quickly lift my eyes to meet his again.  “I thought you said that we were like family,” I say, and the thought causes a strange sensation inside me, like something jagged is caught in my chest, and every breath, every word, forces it to shift and tear at me.  “Well I think that too,” I continue nevertheless.  “Shouldn’t trust run both ways?”_

_“Cas, I just can’t…”_

_“Dean, I do everything that you ask.  I_ always _come when you call, and I am your friend,” I say, and I realize that the eyes of my vessel are becoming misty.  I press on, “Still, despite your lack of faith in me, and now your threats, I just saved you, yet again.  Has anyone but your closest kin ever done more for you?  All I ask is this one thing.”_

_“Trust your plan to pop Purgatory?” he says._

_“I’ve earned that, Dean.”_

_Dean just scoffs and shakes his head minutely._

_“I came to tell you that I will find Lisa and Ben, and I will bring them back,” I say impulsively.  I hadn’t exactly meant to do so before, but if it will win Dean’s trust back, I am willing to do almost anything.  “Stand behind me, the_ one _time I ask.”_

_He steps closer, anger flashing in his eyes.  “You’re asking me to stand down?”_

_Oh, no.  “Dean.”_

_“That’s the same damn ransom note that Crowley handed me.  You know that, right?  Well no thanks.  I’ll find ‘em myself.  In fact, why don’t you go back to Crowley and tell him that I said you can both kiss my ass.”_

_With that, he turns away and takes a few steps, putting distance between us._

_I swallow hard.  The ache in my chest intensifies.  I open my mouth to speak, but I have nothing to say.  Dean is truly done with me.  In his eyes, I am now no better than Crowley, no better than a demon.  And finding Lisa and Ben for him will not change anything._

_I take flight, seeking sanctuary._

_Moments later, I land in the clearing where I first lost Balthazar, where I first grieved his “death,” and drop to my knees.  My forward momentum continues involuntarily, and I brace myself with both hands in the dirt, letting my head hang.  I blink several times, forcing tears back, and swallow hard._

_I cannot feel this way, if I am to win._

_But what is the point of winning if I’ve already lost Dean?_

_No—I still have to win.  I’ve gone too far to lose now.  If I back out, Raphael will win.  He will try to restart the Apocalypse.  But potentially worse is the fact that Crowley may have enough information to try to find Purgatory on his own, and if all that power is taken by him, he could bring down all of Heaven.  He could rule over Hell, Heaven, Purgatory, and the Earth as well._

_I did not think it would come to this when I made my initial choice, but I will see this war through to the end.  As for Dean… if I have to lose his friendship in order to save his world, then so be it._

_I just wish it did not hurt so much._

* * *

I land in the temple and fold my wings behind me carefully.

“Oh, good—you’re already here,” Chronos says, his head jerking up so that he can see me.

“I’ve already made arrangements for the ritual.  I just have to… say goodbye to someone.”

“Troublesome,” Chronos says with a frown.  “The time frame has shifted slightly, and we’ll have to get started earlier than I’d anticipated.  I suppose you still have a few minutes.”

“I shouldn’t need long,” I say.

“You’d better hurry, then,” the god says, looking back down at his work.  There are a variety of different herbs and spices, along with some stones that look ancient.  I won’t ask how he got a hold of them in such a short amount of time.

“I… I was going to do this by entering his dreams.  It is nighttime where he lives, so—”

Chronos nods without looking at me.  “I will give you a warning when it is time—this is a _time_ spell, so it must be precise.  But don’t worry.  If you don’t come back on your own…”

“Yes, you’ve already told me.”

“Have I?  Apologies.  This is very distracting.  Go on, then.”

I shift out of the realm and cross the world, entering Dean’s mind.  He’s not dreaming when I arrive, which suits me perfectly.  I set up a dream for him, just of me and him together, walking into his bedroom at Bobby’s.

Dean grins when he sees me and pulls me into a kiss, kicking the bedroom door shut behind him.  “I thought you said Balthazar would be working on healing you all night,” he says when we part.

“I…”

Then his grin gets even bigger.  “Wait a second… Cas, are you dream-stalking me again?  Damn, aren’t you a kinky bastard—dream sex, really?”

I just smile, pulling him closer and placing a hand on the back of his neck.  I apply some pressure to get him to lower his head, and then I lean up to kiss his forehead.  He backs up slightly to look at me, and I maintain the same smile, but I can’t help thinking about how I’ll never see how brightly his soul glows again.

“Cas…” he murmurs suspiciously, “…why _are_ you visiting my dreams?  If you’re all better, shouldn’t you be here in person?”

“Dean, don’t ask—”

There’s a sharp tug on the fabric of the dream as Dean tries to wake up, but I forcefully hold him under.  Dean shakes his head frantically, tears already welling up in his eyes—apparently I’ve given it away.  And it makes sense, now that he can to some extent tap into my emotions.

“No.  Cas, don’t—please,” he says, falling to his knees.

I drop to my knees in the same motion and frame his face with my hands, wiping tears from his cheeks.  “I will never truly leave you,” I say.  “Not as long as you carry me in your heart.”

Dean shakes his head again.  “Fuck you and Sam and your stupid rom coms.  I want you _here_ , Cas, not some bullshit about you being _in my heart_.  You promised never to leave me—you remember that, don’t you?  You _promised_ , Cas.  You never break your promises.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.  I won’t be able to keep this one.”

“Cas, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.  You will live a long, happy life, and—”

“I won’t be happy without you, Cas.”

“You will learn to in time.  The human soul is miraculous.  It can—”

“I don’t _care_ what the human soul can do,” Dean breaks in emphatically.  “ _I_ can’t fucking do it, Cas.  I can’t.  Not without you.”  His head lolls forward, and our foreheads press together.  “Not without you,” he repeats in a whisper.

“You must,” I say as a slight tug begins on my wings.  It must be Chronos, reminding me of my time limit.

So soon?  It’s hardly been two minutes since I arrived.

“Dean,” I say urgently.  “As soon as I depart, you will wake up.  When—” I stop myself before saying the damning words, _when I’m dead_ “—when all is ready, Michael will appear in the guise of your father—you must not be alarmed.  He will guide you through the steps of the ritual, and he will provide the necessary ingredients.  You have limited time, and you have to hurry, but Sam and Bobby will help you, and Michael will be there to—”

“I don’t give a damn about the ritual,” Dean says through gritted teeth.

“Will you have me die in vain, then?”

“I don’t want you to die at all, Cas!”

I smile, and it hurts.  “Dean, look at me.  _Look_ at me.”  He obeys, brilliant green eyes shining with tears.  “That… that is the best gift you could ever have given me.”

He shuts his eyes again and shakes his head.  “You stupid, stupid _child_.  How can you even _say_ that?”

The insistent tug on my wings grows stronger.  “Dean, I am running out of time.  Please, do this one last thing for me.”

He shakes his head, clutching me tighter to his chest as though it will make a difference.

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love you,” he says, and though his voice shakes, he doesn’t hesitate.

“As I love you,” I respond.

The dream unravels.


	37. Would You Spare Me Over Another?

_I land in the hospital room in time to see Ben walking out the door.  Dean looks hurt.  When he sees me, his expression hardens._

_“What do_ you _want?”_

_“Dean, listen.”_

_“What do you want me to say?” he asks, and I frown because I told him to_ listen _, not to speak.  “She’ll be dead by midnight.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“I don’t care,” he says, and the three words stab into me.  He turns his head to look back at Lisa.  “It’s too little, too late.”_

_“Okay,” I say, steeling myself.  “Well, regardless, I didn’t come for you.”_

_“Meaning?” he replies without looking at me._

_I move over to Lisa’s bedside and place my hand on her forehead to heal her.  The stab wound was severe, but it is easily fixable while I am still attached to Heaven.  “She’s fine now.  She’ll wake soon,” I report, and Dean gets to his feet from his seat on the other side of her bed.  “Dean, I said I’m sorry and I meant it.”_

_“Thank you.  I wish this changed anything,” he says, meeting my eyes._

_“I know.  So do I.  All else aside, I just wanted to fix what I could.”  The words come to me more naturally than I thought they would.  Then I turn away to leave._

_“There’s one more thing you could do for me.”_

_Why should I?  He’s already abandoned me.  There’s nothing more to be gained from helping him—he’s made that much clear.  But instead of questioning him, I just turn back.  His eyes are watery, and I already know that I cannot deny him whatever he asks when he looks like this.  “What is it?”_

_“I… I want…” he lets out a long sigh and looks away.  “Could you make it so… so they don’t remember ever meeting me?”_

_I blink at him, surprised.  But this is something within my power.  “Yes.”_

_He swallows hard and nods.  “Then… thanks.  Again.”_

_I avoid his eyes.  The sight of those eyes would make it too easy for me to fall to my knees before him and beg for his forgiveness.  Because the way he looks at me is so different now.  We’re worlds apart—_ at war with each other _—now, and I can’t give in, not when it’s so crucial that I carry on._

_So I move back to Lisa’s bedside and press two fingers to her forehead, accessing and modifying her memories, erasing all traces of Dean and replacing them with new memories._

_A few seconds later, I pull my fingers back and turn away to see Dean watching me intently.  I blink twice, surprised, and take flight before he can say anything.  If he asked now, I might bend, and I can’t do that.  I land beside Ben and repeat the process with him, matching his memories to the ones I just fed to his mother._

_Then, mission accomplished, I leave the hospital._

_There is still someone I need to find._

* * *

Chronos is looking at me sadly when I arrive.

“What?” I ask him, forcing myself to remain as emotionless as possible.  It’s difficult—Dean’s grief is feeding into me, impossible to ignore.

“You’re bonded to the Righteous Man.  I should have realized.  I apologize for speaking of his death so callously.”

“It’s been done.  Now shouldn’t we get started?”

“Yes, yes,” he answers.  Then he gestures toward the large stone slab that has been set on the floor.  “Lie down here,” he instructs me.

I sit on the slab and turn to lie back.

“I will try to make this as painless as possible,” Chronos says as I settle in.

The stone is cold, hard, and uncomfortable against my back, but the physical discomfort only serves as a slight distraction from the emotional storm roiling inside me.  I try to calm myself the best I can, hoping that this tranquility will be able to bring Dean some peace.  I highly doubt it’s working.

“What do you think you’re doing, Chronos?” asks a familiar voice.

I turn my head in time to see—

“Atropos,” Chronos says.  I glance over to see that he’s smiling.  “It’s nice to see you again.”

“What are you doing?” the Fate demands.

“You know very well what I am doing.  Now stop distracting me.”

Lachesis appears beside her sister.  “We hoped to spin faster, to make you too late to carry this out, but it seems you just _want_ to die, don’t you?”

I frown.  They appear to be talking to Chronos, but I am the one who is about to die.  Then the two Fates launch themselves at the God of Time, and— _oh_.  That was a threat.  I see.

“Don’t move!” Chronos barks at me just as I start to sit up.

I restrain myself and remain in place on the stone slab, turning my head to watch as Chronos fights the two Fates.

“Our sister will be coming soon,” Lachesis says as she dodges a bolt of energy.

No, that’s not good.  Clotho is the youngest but strongest of the three Fates.  Chronos was never a fighting god—he would never be able to hold his own against Clotho on her own, let alone all three sisters at once.

“And you won’t want to fight _her_ ,” Atropos adds to her sister’s words, skipping out of the way of a sword—when did Chronos ever arm himself?  Perhaps he realized it was necessary after Balthazar attacked him.

“No,” Chronos acknowledges, “but if she comes too late, there will be nothing the three of you can do but to allow me to finish the spell.”

Atropos lets out a cry of fury, lunging in with an angel blade—it won’t kill Chronos, but it could certainly cause enough damage that he won’t be able to function for some time.  I stretch out the wing that’s closer to the fight and knock her back, out of the way.

“Castiel!” Chronos shouts suddenly.

I stiffen—have I ruined everything?  But I notice that the god is looking out at the sky, intensely focused.  Taking advantage of his distraction, Lachesis and Atropos converge on him, but I flap my extended wing hard, and they’re thrown backwards momentarily.

“I have to take you now,” Chronos says, and he’s suddenly at my side.  “Are you ready?”

My wings flap once, against my will, and I suffer a moment of panic—is that Dean?  I nod at the God of Time.  He must work quickly.  The footsteps of the two Fates as they reenter the room are joined by the footfalls of the third.  Chronos nods back once, rapidly, before plunging the sword into my chest.

The sensation of a blade slicing into my vessel is not new to me—it was one of the first things I experienced in this vessel, after all.  But my Grace has never been harmed by a blade that wasn’t crafted by angels.  What is the weapon that Chronos is using?

I manage to lift my head.  There’s no blood coming from the wound.  All the damage has been transferred to my Grace.  Agony comes not only from myself but from Dean as well, and for one terrifying moment, I worry that this might kill him as well.  But that’s a ridiculous thought, and it fades quickly.

There’s a crunching sound, and the sword sinks in deeper, penetrating the stone beneath me.

“Rest, now,” Chronos murmurs, releasing the hilt.

I hear Clotho’s high voice, murderous, followed by Chronos’ calm tone.  But the words blur together, and all meaning is lost to me.

* * *

_Crowley emerges from the room, wiping bloody hands on his apron._

_“Nothing?”_

_“She still won’t talk,” he says agitatedly._

_“Allow me.”_

_Crowley raises his eyebrows doubtfully—it is clear that he doesn’t think I have it in me to torture someone.  But I was able to do it when we needed to find Eve, and I will do it again now.  The demon steps aside._

_“She’s all yours,” he says._

_I enter the small room, and Eleanor spits on the ground._

_“I won’t tell you anything,” she says._

_“Is that so?”_

_I step closer, picking up a scalpel from Crowley’s tray as I pass by it.  But when I’m closer to her, I see that she’s struggling to breathe.  Blood leaks profusely from several wounds._

_“You’re dying,” I realize._

_She just laughs._

_“Why won’t you tell me?” I ask._

_“You’re about to torture me.”_

_“Not if you tell me.”_

_“Oh, don’t bother lying.  We know what angels are like. They—”_

_“I am not here to torture you, Eleanor.  Why don’t you want us to open the door to Purgatory?”_

_She draws in a shuddering breath.  “You don’t know the types of monsters that are there, angel.  You don’t know what you’re up against.  You can’t—”_

_“You don’t want to release the monsters, then.  Why?  Is it because you like living on Earth?  Because you think this world is worth protecting?” I ask.  She doesn’t respond, so I go on, “I think so, too.  I don’t think you understand the magnitude of what is going on.”_

_“I don’t care.  Nothing is bad enough to warrant opening a door to let them in.”_

_“Let who in?”_

_“The Leviathans.”_

_I consider this for a moment.  These creatures were supposed to be dangerous enough that God locked them away to keep them from destroying everything.  But if I back out now, Crowley will take over, and they will be released nevertheless.  I_ must _be the one to open the gate, the one to take the souls._

_“At least let me make my case,” I tell her._

_“You weren’t so keen on making your case earlier,” she says, and then she coughs a few times.  I reach over and press a palm to her shoulder, clearing her airway of blood.  She glares at me.  “You handed me right over to that demon.”_

_“You were not willing to listen,” I remind her._

_She says nothing, so I begin to explain._

_“There is a war in Heaven.  I am leading a smaller faction of angels against Raphael.  He wants to follow the original plan, to end the world.  I need to win this war so that he won’t destroy everything that this world currently is.  In order to do that, I need more power, so I need access to Purgatory.”_

_She shakes her head.  “The Leviathans—”_

_“They’ll be released whether or not I am the one to open the door.  I’m going to let you decide when you’re going to tell me how to open it.  If you tell me now, I will release you.  If not… well, I can put you in more pain than Crowley ever could.  He was not trained under Alastair in the methods of torture and pain.”_

_“But you’re an angel,” she says, frowning.  “An angel would never apprentice himself to a demon.”_

_“You’re right.  I wasn’t apprenticed to Alastair, but my charge was.  And I am capable of replicating what he did in Hell.  You don’t want to experience that, do you?”_

_“I’m already dying anyway.”_

_“Yes, but there is still time left for you.  You can spend all those hours here, in excruciating pain, or you can leave this place and breathe some fresh air before you die.”_

_She looks down.  “If you really plan to do this, to take in all the souls of Purgatory, then there is no way that the Leviathans will not enter your vessel.  They want to be free.  So as soon as you’re finished with everything, rid yourself of the souls.  Get rid of the Leviathans before they can hook onto your body.”_

_It’s easy to agree to this—she probably won’t be alive by the time we open the door to Purgatory, anyway.  A few minutes later, I emerge with a recipe and incantation.  I can’t help but feel smug at the look of surprise on Crowley’s face._

* * *

_Eleanor is sitting in an alley, by a dumpster.  She already called Bobby, so they should be arriving soon._

_I have been tailing her ever since I released her because the Winchesters and Bobby have been very careful about angel-proofing.  I haven’t been able to speak with them.  And I need to reach them in order to ensure that they will not interrupt me when I’m opening the door._

_Sure enough, they arrive and rush to Eleanor’s side._

_“El?” Bobby says._

_“Hey,” she responds.  “I guess I could’ve used your help after all.”_

_“Just be still.”_

_“What happened?” Sam asks._

_“They took me.  I got away,” she answers with a pained smile.  She opens up her coat, revealing her blood-soaked shirt._

_It’s not the complete truth, but it’s close enough.  I can see that she’s close to death, and it makes sense for her to shorten her words as much as possible._

_“Aw, Ellie.  What have they done to you?” Bobby asks._

_Eleanor chuckles.  “Everything.  The demon I could’ve handled, yeah—but when the angel stepped in, I—” she sighs, and I frown.  She’s insinuating that I tortured her.  Why would she do that?  But she’s already going on, “—I told him, Bobby.  They have enough to crack Purgatory wide open.”_

_“Tell me,” Bobby says.  “I need to know.”_

_“They need virgin blood.  That’s a milk-run for them,” she says.  True—Crowley’s off getting the blood as they speak.  “And they need the blood of a Purgatory native, and well, they’ve got plenty of that now.”_

_“Have they opened it yet?” Dean asks worriedly._

_She shakes her head.  “Tomorrow.  The moon—an eclipse.  I’m sorry, Bobby.”_

_“No, it’s okay.  It’s okay.”_

_“I’m sorry, really sorr—”_

_“Tell us where they are,” Bobby says, but the light has faded from her eyes, and she’s gone.  “El?” Bobby breathes, softly._

_I sigh.  It’s time to reveal myself._

_Uncloaking myself, I say, “I’m sorry this had to happen.  Crowley got carried away.”_

_Bobby’s back on his feet.  “Yeah, I bet it was all Crowley, you son of a bitch!”_

_He lunges at me, but Sam and Dean hold him back.  I consider explaining myself, but arguing over this point wouldn’t change things.  They will still try to stop me, and I cannot stop, not now._

_“You don’t even see it, do you?” Dean says to me.  “How totally off the rails you are!”_

_“Enough!” I bark.  “I don’t care what you think.”  It’s a lie, but I have to lie to stay strong.  To keep going.  “I’ve tried to make you understand.  You won’t listen.  So let me make this simple._ Please _, go home and let me stop Raphael.  I won’t ask again.”_

_“Well good, ‘cause I think you already know the answer,” Dean responds._

_I shake my head.  “I wish it hadn’t come to this,” I say, and I mean every word of it.  The last thing I’d ever want to do is to hurt them, but this is my last resort.  “Well rest assured, when this is all over, I will save Sam, but only if you stand down.”_

_“Save Sam from what?” Dean asks angrily._

_I shift out of the realm and land right behind Sam.  Reaching up, I press my fingers to his temple, gently toppling the barrier that Death erected in Sam’s mind.  Then, as Sam collapses to the ground, I take flight again._

_As I put distance between myself and the alley, I hear Dean cursing after me and do my best to tune it out—I can’t be distracted by him if I am to finish this._

* * *

_I’m meditating when I sense Crowley’s familiar presence coming into the room._

_“Your Purgatory power-shake, Monsieur,” the demon says, passing me a jar of blood.  “Half monster, half virgin.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_He turns around to look at me.  “You seem even more constipated than usual.  Maybe get you some Colonblow?”_

_“I’m renegotiating our terms,” I say._

_“Is that so?  What terms do you propose?”_

_“You get nothing.  Not one single soul.”_

_“Can’t help notice, seems a bit unfairly weighted,” he says, seemingly nonchalant.  When I don’t respond, he looks angry.  “Castiel.  You wouldn’t dare.  I brought you this deal.”_

_“You think I’m handing all that power to the King of Hell?  I’m neither stupid nor wicked,” I say.  If Raphael took the power, at least I know where he’d spend it. But Crowley… I honestly don’t know where it would end, with him._

_“Unbelievable,” he breathes.  “Have you forgotten that you’re the bottom in this relationship?”_

_“Here are your options.  You either flee, or you die.”_

_“We made a pact.  Even_ I _don’t break contracts like this.”_

_“Flee… or die,” I reiterate._

_The demon scoffs, disbelieving.  “Boy, just can’t trust anyone these days.”_

_With that, he vanishes._

_I track his movements until he’s well out of reach, down in Hell again.  Sure that he won’t be returning, I stow away the mixed blood, clean the room of all traces of demon, and call upon Eremiel to join me._

_“Hello, Castiel,” he says.  “You’ve been gone from Heaven for some time.  The losses are great.”_

_“Yes, and I regret that,” I respond.  “I have a solution for this mess, but I’m going to have to be alone here.  Station some angels around the building to make sure no one gets inside.”_

_Eremiel frowns, looking around.  “What is this plan of yours?”_

_“I cannot say.  Balthazar will arrive to help me shortly.  We cannot be interrupted.”_

_“Why can’t you say?  Is that a requirement for the plan to work?”_

_“Yes.”_

_My brother hesitates for a moment before nodding.  “Very well, then.  I will see who we can spare.  But it is hard to fight, now.  We’re down to only a few dozen angels, and Raphael still outnumbers us by a few hundred.  Most of us are injured.”_

_“I know,” I say softly, looking down.  “Hopefully, this will… this will work.  If it does, I will be able to fix everything.”  I glance up at him again.  “I’ll fix everything, I promise.”_

_He manages a smile.  “I trust that you will, brother.  Just be careful, whatever it is you’re doing.”_

_He departs, and a few minutes later, I sense the arrival of some brothers, just outside the building.  Eremiel is a good angel, a good brother.  I’ll have to find a way to repay him, when all of this is over._

_Balthazar, though… I sigh.  He’s been away for a while, and I don’t know what he’s been doing.  But I already have some idea of what it could be.  After all, I doubt that Sam and Dean could have found Lisa and Ben without his help._

_As I wait for the eclipse, I stretch out my senses, just to make sure that Dean and Bobby are not… but no—I sense them coming already.  I close my eyes and shake my head.  Didn’t Dean listen?  I… I’ll fix Sam’s head anyway after all of this is over, but I thought… I thought that surely threatening Sam would keep Dean safely away from here.  How could I have forgotten just how stubborn Dean Winchester is?_

_But how could they know that I would be here?  Unless… Balthazar.  He must have given them my location._

_Why would he betray me?  How… how could he?  After all that we’ve been through together…_

_He lied to my face.  He looked at me and said, “in for a penny, in for a pound,” just as he used to when he abandoned his partner, Ambriel, to join Uriel and me in battle.  I remember always being worried that he would be punished for leaving his partner behind, but Ambriel liked Balthazar enough to cover for him, to say that he was researching, instead of off fighting battles that he had no business to be fighting._

_I thought Balthazar would be with me until the end.  But it’s clear that he has abandoned me as well._

_Apparently, the only person I can trust not to betray me is myself._

_With a heavy sigh, I summon Balthazar to me.  I take out the jar of blood and tilt it, watching the viscous liquid move around inside while I wait._

_“You rang, Cas?” Balthazar says when he lands._

_“Yeah, we have a problem.  Dean Winchester is on his way here.”_

_“Really?  Oh.  How’d he even know where we were?” my brother asks._

_“Apparently,” I say, setting down the jar of blood, “we have a Judas in our midst.”_

_“Ah,” Balthazar says, chuckling, and is that anxiety I hear?  “Holy hell.  Who is it?  I bet it’s that bloody little cherub, isn’t it?”_

_I get to my feet.  Balthazar, ever the more persuasive of the two of us, helped speak to several angels while I was on my search for Eleanor Visyak.  The one who eventually gave me her location was a cherub who was adamant that he know the reasons for finding her before giving it to me.  I forced it out of him eventually, but it would have been reasonable that he would want to ruin our plans.  If I didn’t already know the identity of the true traitor, that is._

_But when I open my mouth, I can’t get the words—_ I know you betrayed me, brother _—to come out of my mouth.  “I don’t know,” I say instead.  “But I… I need you to find out.”_

_“Of course.  Um, right away.  Right away.  Uh, what do you want me to do about Dean?”_

_I turn away from him, trying not to give anything away.  “Nothing.  I’ll handle him myself,” I say quietly._

_“Castiel?  Are you all right?”_

_He already suspects that I know.  “First Sam and Dean, and now this,” I say.  “I’m doing my best in impossible circumstances.  My friends, they… abandon me, plot against me.  It’s difficult to understand.”_

_“Well you’ve—you’ve always got little old me.”_

_It’s hard to explain the sensation these words spark in me, except that… my heart… breaks.  I flap my wings swiftly, shifting out of the plane.  Before Balthazar can react, I land behind him and shove my blade into his back.  He groans in surprised pain._

_“Yes,” I say.  “I’ll always have you.”_

_“Cas,” he murmurs, voice trembling slightly._

_And then the flash comes, and I watch as his Grace burns away._

_I am really and truly alone, now._

* * *

Consciousness returns to me in a flash, and I realize that I am standing, still in the shape of my vessel, in the temple.  Chronos is chanting something beside me.  The three Fates have gone, or perhaps they’re waiting outside the temple for him to finish.

I look down at the stone slab, at my dead body.  Why am I… I should have disappeared.  Should have gone from the universe.  I thought that that was what happened to angels when they died.  But then, that makes no sense.  There must be some strange in-between phase, because I was able to fight off Death and return to life in the past.

Ah, so that’s what this is.

I wonder if I could visit Dean, if only to look at him once more before I go for the last time.

Death appears at my side.  “Don’t fight me, Castiel,” he says.

“I won’t,” I reply.  “Not today.”

Death smiles.  “God always wanted to know how to kill you.  Isn’t it funny that you, one of the few angels who truly knew love, could only be killed by love?”

I don’t think it’s funny at all, but I see no point in arguing.

Then Death holds out his hand for me to take, and grasping his pale, cold fingers, I follow him into the dark.


	38. Swan Song

As soon as Castiel’s Grace flickers out of existence, I awaken.

The universe unfolds before my eyes, and I see all that is, all that has or could have been, and all that will or could be.  And I know everything, remember everything.  I remember the emptiness of my solitary existence, the joy at bringing to life my first creation, and then the relief at discovering another being like myself.

I remember the darkness that consumed these creations of mine, the hunger and violence that spiraled out of control.  I remember how it pained me to build their cage and place them inside, with the hopes of starting something new, of creating non-destructive life.

I remember… my _own_ creation.  Michael, I was called.  I remember the wonder I felt while cradling the first Grace in my hands, imbuing it with Power and Majesty.  This memory gives me pause—it is somehow contradictory, yet not conflicting at all that I can remember my own creation, that I can refer to myself as separate, other.

I remember the next wondrous creations.  Lucifer was filled with Love and Light, soft where Michael was sharp.  The balance was perfect.  Then followed Raphael, of Pride and Obedience.  And the last was Gabriel, made of Innocence and Wit.

After the pain of discovering that I, too, would die, and the eventual decision to continue creating, I put less power into my angels, sure that my first four would be able to lead them.  I thought the combinations of qualities that composed them were stable, balanced, perfect.  I had no reason to believe otherwise.

But of course, I was wrong.

Michael was powerful, yes, but as firstborn, his sense of majesty gave him the desire to always follow orders in keeping with propriety and respect toward his creator.  Lucifer was made of a love that was too selfish, too young to endure the test of time.  When I created the humans, his love turned to envy and resentment, and finally hate.  Unable to reconcile what I thought had been perfectly balanced differences, Michael cast Lucifer into Hell.

Disturbed by Lucifer’s rebellion and subsequent defeat, Gabriel took his tainted innocence and escaped from Heaven, using his wit to hide him from all who sought him.  Raphael remained obedient always, and prideful as well, but without anyone to give him orders, he could not adapt, could only operate on what he thought were his orders—to carry out the Apocalypse as it had been originally planned.

It is clear that I was wrong when I assumed that the archangels would be able to lead.  But they were only fledglings, with too much power and too little experience on their hands.  While I thought that my own departure would be sufficient to spark some growth in my children, Castiel, the herald of my death, was my saving grace as well.

He is the one who unwittingly took Michael out of Hell, separating him from Lucifer.  He is the one who led the resistance against Raphael when the archangel knew no better than to turn back toward the old path.  He is the one who forced Gabriel to become responsible, to prove himself reliable.  Castiel taught my children what it was to grow up.  And he advised me—Michael—to release my dearest brother from the depths of Hell and to absolve him of his sins.

But enough memories—I have dallied long enough.  My awakening means that Castiel has gone, so I shall do the honor of continuing his story.

* * *

Dean wakes with a start, eyes wet with tears.  He wipes them away furiously and leaps to his feet, starting immediately to pace.  He closes his eyes and concentrates on Castiel, on the connection they share.  But he cannot feel much of anything—Sam informed him some time ago that Castiel was still capable of seeing easily into Dean’s thoughts, and he cannot help but think that that is ridiculously unfair.

In the next room, Sam, ever the light sleeper, wakes to the sound of his brother’s pacing and sits up straight in the armchair, stretching.  He does not know what is about to happen.

Bobby was the last to fall asleep tonight, and he remains asleep now.  Castiel may have given him some extra years to live, but he is still human.  Sam and Dean do not know how much time he’s spent searching for an alternative to the time-stopping course of action—Bobby really does see them as his sons, and he won’t stand by and watch them die again.

Miles and miles away, Crowley bickers with Meg about the most useful course of action.  Meg wants to go out and fight the Leviathans.  Crowley declares that she’s mental but says that if she wants to take Bela and go, they can commit suicide—“It’s all the same to me, darling,” he concludes.

Gabriel’s just beginning to grow tired of stopping nuclear bombs when Balthazar suddenly shifts into existence to help, bringing with him Eremiel, Arariel, Inias, Raziel, Puriel, and a very reluctant Raphael.  Gabriel instantly turns to his older brother, seeking tactical advice.  This sparks pride within Raphael, and the other angels defer to him as he designs a strategy for defending the Earth that he once worked so hard to destroy.

Castiel stays still on the stone slab, watching worriedly as Chronos holds off two of the three Fates.

And Dean continues trying to reach him, doing anything and everything he can think of.  He prays forcefully in his head, but he gets no response from Castiel.  He begins praying out loud, and when Sam enters the study, Dean just ignores him and continues to pray.  Sam deduces what is about to happen and joins Dean in prayer.

“Not right now, Sammy,” Dean says.  “This is between me and him.”

“He’s still my friend, Dean.  Practically my brother.  I’m allowed to care.”

Dean concedes this and resumes his pacing.  Sam remains standing in place, praying silently.  But it is not Castiel to whom he calls—instead, he prays for Balthazar.  When the angel doesn’t arrive, Sam curses.

“I’m guessing Balthazar’s not just upstairs either, then,” he says, and Dean doesn’t even spare breath for a word in Sam’s direction, just nods once.  Sam begins to worry.  What if something’s happened?  He knows that Castiel is going to give himself up, but Balthazar wasn’t involved in any fate-defying.  Why would he disappear as well?

In Heaven, Michael unknowingly marches to the same beat as Dean Winchester, pacing back and forth as he awaits his brother’s death, heart heavy with dread.

Bobby enters his study, having been awakened by the brothers’ voices.  He’s about to start complaining when he sees the look on their faces, the seriousness of the situation.  And then he knows, too.  He pulls Sam aside and suggests that they try the summoning ritual they used on Castiel before.  Sam takes one look at his brother—Dean’s now standing still and silent, head bowed in concentration—before nodding and heading into the basement to get what they need.

In the middle of a vast field of wildflowers, Jesse seems to sense the impending change and stiffens, his hand trembling in Jo’s.  She stops walking and squats down in front of him, a small, concerned frown creasing her brow.  The boy is very tense, hovering on the verge of destroying everything that has ever committed violence.

But then Jo reaches out, smoothing a hand along his cheek.  “Everything will be all right, Jesse,” she tells him with a smile.  “Dean, Sam, and Cas will save the day.”

The boy deliberates a moment longer, staring at his companion.  He hesitantly breaks into a smile and graciously decides to let all of those violent people live.

Dean’s entire being is focused on Castiel, so he _feels_ it when Castiel throws a wing out to knock someone over, _feels_ just how forcefully he flaps his wing to keep an assailant at bay.  “Dean,” Sam says, looking up from the table in the adjacent room, but Dean doesn’t hear or see him.  He’s too focused on the feeling of phantom wings protruding from his back, and he tries to imagine that they’re his, tries to control them.

He flaps once and can sense a jolt of surprise from Castiel.  Dean’s elated—if he can control those wings, he can pull Castiel back here.  His angel doesn’t have to d—

The sword drives into Castiel’s chest, piercing through his Grace.

An angel dies.  A new God is born.

Dean’s anguished cry draws Sam and Bobby back into the room.  He’s on his knees, clutching his chest, clawing at it.  He feels hollow.  There’s nothing left.  Sam and Bobby each grab an arm, keeping his hands still so that he won’t hurt himself.  He doesn’t hear their calls, too lost in the aching emptiness that gnaws at him head to toe.

Chronos kneels at Castiel’s side and blesses his vessel with ancient words.

I reach out to Sam, Dean, and Bobby, but at the last moment, I withdraw from Dean’s mind—he is still suffering, and this may be too much to bear.  I leave for Sam and Bobby the instructions for the ritual and inform them that it must be completed immediately.

“Sam, we’ve gotta move, now!” Bobby says, but he doesn’t leave Dean’s side, and neither does Sam.

“You go,” Sam responds.  “I’ll keep an eye on Dean.”

So I must convince Dean to help.  But his mind is blocked off now, and I do not wish to force my way inside, not when he is experiencing such trauma.  Remembering my promise to Castiel, I reluctantly appear before the humans.

“The ritual must be completed as soon as possible, or all of this will have been in vain,” I say.

Sam and Bobby stare at me.  Meanwhile, Gabriel soars through the atmosphere, on the lookout for more missiles.  On the ground, political leaders are getting in contact with “experts” in vain attempts to discover what has been happening to their nuclear warheads.  Crowley has a trusted demon make himself available as one such “expert.”

“Why—why are you wearing my fa—” Sam begins, but Dean suddenly jerks to his feet.

“Bring him back, Michael,” Dean says.  Sam and Bobby shake their heads at the same time, but Dean only has eyes for me.  “You did it before.  Do it again.  Now,” he insists.

“Perform the ritual,” I answer.

He clenches his jaw.  “Will you bring Cas back if I do it?”

“I cannot.”

“Bull!”

Dean starts to lunge at me, but Sam and Bobby are able to stop him.  I cross the space between us, stopping right before what was once my rightful vessel.  He was perfect for me—I can still feel it.

Elsewhere, a furious Dick Roman hears that the missiles are not landing where they should, whenever they make the ground at all.  Angelic interference is so tiresome.  He glances at the clock behind him and realizes that time has stopped and wonders what those apes are trying this time.

“Dean,” I say calmly, holding up a hand when he tries to speak.  His mouth continues to form words, but no sound comes out, and both brothers turn hard glares on me.  “Castiel gave his life to ensure that the world be freed of Leviathans.  Will you let his life go to waste by dallying here?”

“There has to be a way to bring him back.  There—”

I cut his voice off again.  “Dean, _focus_.”

Crowley paces back and forth in the lounge of his presidential suite, feeling guilty.  “This is _ridiculous_ ,” he murmurs, trying to convince himself that the deaths of two more demons who don’t even like him is none of his concern.

Dean wants nothing more than to rip me to shreds for saying that there is no coming back for Castiel this time.  My continued presence will not benefit the situation.

Then Balthazar lands in the room, and Sam’s relief is palpable.

“Get to work, the two of you.  I’ll see to Dean,” the angel says.  And then his eyes land on me and widen.  “G—God.”

“Carry on, Balthazar,” I say before vanishing.

He springs into action, taking Dean from Sam and Bobby and ushering them away to start the ritual.

Meg leaps back, but it’s too late—the tentacle that’s swinging in her direction is going to connect, and she’s going to be slaughtered by one of these hideous creatures.  She barely has enough time to shut her eyes before a shrill scream pierces the air right in front of her.  Then Bela falls backward heavily, and Meg catches her.

“Bela, what—”

“Go,” the young demon urges through bloodied lips.  The Leviathan’s tentacle slashed her across the chest, and blood flows freely from the long gash.

“Blood of an angel,” Sam says to Bobby.  “Where the hell are we supposed to get blood of an angel?”  The old hunter just looks at Sam like he’s an idiot before directing his gaze to the angel that’s trying to talk some sense into Dean.  Sam takes a deep breath and tells himself to _think_.  “…Right.”

Meg wants to stand and fight, but she can’t turn away from this creature, this poor, twisted soul that she pulled off the rack for her own selfish purposes.  And she suddenly realizes that she can’t just leave her here to die, that for the first time in her existence as a demon, she doesn’t put self-preservation as her top priority.

“ _Go_ ,” Bela moans.

But Meg doesn’t even look away as the Leviathan taunts her fallen friend, only reluctantly fixes her eyes on her attacker when he fists a hand in her dark hair and yanks her head back.

Balthazar slices his wrist over the cup that Sam’s holding.  His other hand is on Dean, grounding him, but his eyes never leave Sam’s face.  “Thank you,” Sam says, and Balthazar knows that he’s thanking him for more than a cup of blood.

Meg hears a familiar sound, one that plagued her for a full year—the snarl of a Hellhound.  And then another.  The Leviathan looks up, startled, and Meg jerks her head down instinctively, just as one of the dogs from Hell leaps over her head and bites.  The Leviathan staggers back, and two more Hellhounds join the first.

“ _Come on_ ,” Crowley hisses, and Meg gapes at him.

Then she looks down, and her hopeful smile twists into a pained grimace.  The body in her arms is lifeless.  “No,” she murmurs, shaking her head.  “No, no, _no_ —”

Annoyed, Crowley grasps her shoulder and transports them to safety.

Dean shoves Balthazar away.  “Don’t tell me what he meant to me—don’t try to talk like you know what’s going on.”

“I _do_ know.  Look at me.  Use what’s left of Cas—” Dean makes a downright pitiful sound when Balthazar says the name “—to see me.  Do it, Dean.”

Sam tracks the conversation as he pours blood into a large bowl, along with a large collection of other items.  Bobby adds rosemary and sunflower seeds, and Sam frowns.  “This doesn’t seem right.”

“Well, we ain’t got a better option.  Just keep working.  And quit eavesdroppin’, you idjit.  We gotta get this right.”

Dean doesn’t know how to do what Balthazar is telling him to do.  Surely any part of Cas that was left in him has gone, too, right?  Because he wouldn’t feel so hollow if Cas were still here.  He wouldn’t—

And then Balthazar lays a hand on his shoulder, right over the mark, and Dean feels _Cas_ , feels his angel’s presence lingering in the recesses of his own soul, the phantom touch of wings pressing at his back.

But it’s not enough—not _nearly_ enough—and he turns to Balthazar.  _How did you do that?_ he wants to say, but he can’t, not when he can see the gaping holes in the angel, the ache that’s always there, the one that’ll never get any relief.  And suddenly it all crashes down on him.  The Grace that he sees, the one that’s torn in irreparable ways, reflects what his own soul has become.

Dean brushes Balthazar’s hand off his shoulder.  And then, in a low voice so that Sammy won’t be able to hear him, Dean asks, “How long since… since…?”

“Over two millennia,” Balthazar answers.  “And no, it doesn’t ever heal.  But it does get easier.”

“How?” Dean asks.

“Just trust me.  It does.”

“ _How?_   How is that even fucking possible?”  He lowers his voice even farther as he continues, “If Cas isn’t ever gonna be back, I might as well put a bullet through my head.”

Balthazar sighs.  “Brotherhood.  It isn’t the same, isn’t ever going to fill the gaps, but it’s strong.  It is more than enough to live for.  Look at Sam and remember that he needs you, and that will be enough.”

Dean turns his head to look at his little brother and sees him staring back.  Sam flashes an encouraging smile, but the worry in his eyes is all that Dean can see.

“You and I are both big brothers.  I know you won’t be able to leave Sam, just as I was unable to leave Cas.”

Dean frowns as he looks at Balthazar.  “But Cas… he has—had—other brothers.  How was that enough for you?”

“Sam has another brother, too,” Balthazar responds.  “Does that mean you’d leave him behind?”

In the Senate emergency meeting, Crowley’s demon “expert” steps down, and esteemed senator Paige Plant—or rather, the Leviathan who’s seamlessly assumed her identity—takes the stand.  Do you people really believe in all of this supernatural bullshit that this insane man is spouting?  This is all obviously the result of Soviet tampering devices.  Or maybe there are spies in our midst, messing with our missiles so that they keep misfiring.  We cannot let them succeed.

Meg pounds her fists against Crowley, who is alarmed by the frankly childish display.  “Bring me back!” she demands furiously, and Crowley can see her mangled soul, can see how much pain she’s suffering at the loss of her companion.  And then he frowns, because compassion—that’s the second emotion he’s felt today that should not be possible for a demon.

“She’s _dead_ ,” he says bluntly, attempting to push Meg away from him, but she fists her hands in his neatly pressed suit and rails about how he came too late, how he should have gotten there before Bela died.  Or hell, how he should have come with them in the first place, if he was just gonna pop in and save them anyway.

Then Meg bursts into tears, because this wasn’t supposed to happen.  Because if Bela really was going to die, it was supposed to be at Meg’s hand.  Bela was supposed to be the scapegoat, the demon that Meg threw into the Winchesters’ way if things went south and she had to make a quick escape.  The dumb bitch wasn’t supposed to throw herself into the way, sacrifice herself to save Meg when Meg hadn’t even asked for it.

And then Crowley does the unthinkable—his arms slowly come up, in increments, until they’re at Meg’s shoulders, resting lightly.  She blinks up at him, tears sliding down her cheeks, uncomprehending.  What’s happening to them?  What is this?  But she leans into his chest, and it doesn’t matter anymore.

Crowley slides his hands around her as she moves and awkwardly pats her back, trying not to think too hard about it.  This won’t ever happen again, he tells himself.  But he knows better than anyone when he’s lying.  And in this instant, he knows that he’s not telling the truth.  Oh, bloody buggering hell.

Sam recites an incantation, one that has been stored for him in his head.  He stutters once or twice before giving himself over and allowing the ancient words to flow from his mouth.

Upstairs, Adam finally throws off the covers and gets to his feet with a frustrated sigh.  Don’t hunters ever get any sleep?  And must they always talk in such loud voices?

So far away, Dick Roman hears Sam’s words and is furious, sending for his closest advisors to contact the Leviathans that are circling Bobby Singer’s household.  Someone is trying to lock them back into Purgatory, and Dick will die before he lets that happen.

There’s a thunderclap over a temple in Tibet, and Chronos looks up at the roof above his head.  “It is happening, angel,” he murmurs to the lifeless vessel.  “We will prevail.”

The words of the spell flow faster, but Balthazar can feel the dark aura of Leviathans closing in around them.  He looks at Dean and says, “Up for a fight, hunter?”

Dean works hard on pushing past the heavy weight on his chest, but he just can’t do it.  Balthazar turns his head, and when Dean follows his gaze, his eyes land on Sam, lips moving so quickly that Dean can hardly track them.  And it _is_ easier when he looks back at Balthazar, so he nods and pushes past the angel to get at his duffel bag.

“Adam!” Dean barks, but his half-brother is already at the foot of the steps, staring at Sam with wide eyes.

“What’s going on?”

“Your first big fight.  Know how to fire a gun now?” Dean asks.  Adam catches the shotgun that Dean thrusts into his hands, startled.  But he nods, and Dean returns a nod of approval.  “You can do that bullet-to-borax trick, right?” Dean asks Balthazar as he heads for the front door.

“Sure.”

“You ain’t goin’ out there without me,” Bobby says, following Adam, Dean, and Balthazar toward the exit.  He cocks his own shotgun, and no one bothers to argue with him.

Sam barely has time to pause for breath, but there’s no way to stop the spell now—he must finish, or die trying.

Dean throws open the door and races out of the house, firing away.  Adam and Bobby join him instantly, and their bullets all transform into borax upon contact with the Leviathans.  But then, as Dean is reloading, he notices that Adam and Bobby’s bullets aren’t affecting the Leviathans that they’re attacking.  And when Dean turns around to look, Balthazar is gone.

“Well, here’s something I thought I’d never see,” Balthazar says, and two demons spring apart.  Balthazar allows himself an amused smile but nothing more—the situation is too urgent for that.  “Come,” he says, and grasps Meg’s shoulder in his left hand, Crowley’s in his right.

When the bullets start working again, Dean, Bobby, and Adam have already been backed right up against the house, cornered by the four Leviathans coming at them.  Adam reaches back in a vain attempt to open the door, but the door handle won’t turn.

“What the _fuck_ —”

And then the Leviathans are propelled backwards by their bullets again, and the humans breathe just a bit easier.  Balthazar appears on the porch with Crowley and Meg in tow.  “Sorry, Dean!” he shouts over the sound of gunshots—he knows the elder Winchester will have been cursing his name for disappearing like that.

Inside the house, the contents of the bowl have burst into flame, and though Sam flinches and feels himself growing weaker, he doesn’t stop speaking.  According to the instructions that Michael—or God?—left in his head, this is supposed to happen.

Under his breath, Crowley mutters a summoning spell for his hounds.  Meg looks at him as though asking for permission, and he sighs as he finishes his incantation.  His three Hellhounds bound toward the Leviathans, always happy to be in combat.

“You’d better not make me regret this,” he hisses at Meg before grabbing her arm.  He shoves her sleeve up and presses his finger to her arm, removing the brand that blocks the connection between her and her own hounds.  She manages a short, grateful smile in his direction.

Dean flinches back when he realizes that there are Hellhounds here, but he composes himself—they’re _on his side_ , which is one of the weirdest fucking things that’s ever happened to him.

Dick Roman stiffens.  It’s too late.  “ _No_ ,” he whispers.

Sam speaks the last word of the incantation and collapses into a heap on the ground.

Right in front of ninety-nine other senators, Paige Plant screeches in pain, jaw opening wide as her true face is exposed.  There’s an instant of absolute stillness in the room before people start screaming and scrambling for the exits.

Across the world, the rest of the Leviathans shriek in unison, gripped by immeasurable pain.  And then they start vanishing, one by one.  Dick Roman feels the pull on his body and fights it, fights it with everything he has left.  He is _not_ going back into that prison.  Never.  Soon, he is the only one that remains.  But then, the spell becomes too strong, even for him, and the last Leviathan on Earth disappears with a murderous cry for vengeance.


	39. Lucifer Rising

Relieved, Crowley and Meg send their hounds back to Hell and turn to the humans and angel.  Adam looks slightly stunned, and Bobby’s wearing a small smile of disbelief.  But Balthazar and Dean look like they’re in mourning.  And then Crowley realizes what is wrong with this picture.  “Where’s Cas?” he asks, and it’s impossible to miss how Dean flinches at the mention of that name.

The world shifts, and time resumes its natural flow.  Chronos lifts the empty vessel before him and takes it out of the temple to be burned.

I appear to the angels that have done such an excellent job of protecting the Earth, and Raphael and Gabriel freeze at the sight of me.  All angels except Balthazar return to Heaven with me, and I ensure that no more missiles will be fired.  Not tonight.

In a few minutes, Balthazar and Dean will have explained how Castiel sacrificed himself.  The group will reenter the house, planning to share victory drinks—Dean will decline, saying that all he wants to do is sleep.  He will discover Sam on the ground, unconscious, and call for Balthazar to tell him what’s wrong.  Balthazar will reassure him that Sam is only tired, that the spell drained his energy and then multiplied it in order to banish the Leviathans.  Sam will recover in a few days.

Dean will end up spending the night at Sam’s bedside in silent vigil.  Nothing Bobby or Adam or Crowley or Meg says will be enough to get him to rest.  In contrast, Balthazar will say nothing, and after all the others have gone—the demons to Hell, and the humans back to bed—he will enter Sam’s head and carefully soothe his sleep, stamping out any nightmares the instant they begin to form.  When Sam wakes in the morning, he will realize that that was the best night of sleep he’s had in years.

Meanwhile in Heaven, Ash will invite his friends to a huge party in his realm.  Well, he won’t invite people so much as kidnap them, but they won’t complain.  He’ll find Jo and Ellen, who’ll insist on bringing Jesse along.  Ash will teach the boy to refer to him as Dr. Badass, and Jesse will take to him immediately.  He’ll have to convince Pamela to show up, because there’s no kidnapping a psychic.  It’ll be easy enough to bribe her with beer and good company, though.  He’ll find Rufus Turner in the middle of a memory involving Bobby, and the robbing of a museum in Andover.  But he’ll drag Rufus out with the offer of a few beers, promising to return him straight back to that memory when the fun is over.

It’ll take a long, long time to locate John and Mary Winchester, because they like their privacy.  And because last time they met, John was able to manipulate Ash—okay, so it was probably much easier than it should have been, but Ash was roaring drunk at the time, so he really can’t be blamed—into teaching him how to hide their realm of Heaven from his radar.

But along the way, while searching for the Winchesters, Ash will find quite a few old hunting friends who passed through the Roadhouse from time to time—old retired Elkins, for example.  He’ll meet Pastor Jim for the first time—he’d only heard stories about the man, and mentioning that he’s looking for John Winchester will be enough to get Jim to come with him to the Roadhouse.

When he does find the elusive couple, they’ll be sitting together outside a replica of their old home in Lawrence, looking up at the stars that this realm has generated for them.  Mary will be cradling the projection of an infant Sam, and John will be sitting beside a very inquisitive four-year-old Dean.

They’ll refuse Ash’s invitation at first, and John will be angry that Ash was still able to find them.  But Ash will explain what their sons have accomplished and inform them that everyone is dying to see them again.  This much will convince Mary that they should go, and with a little push from her— _come on, John, it’s not every day that your sons save the world—_ John will reluctantly acquiesce.

The gathering at Ash’s version of the Roadhouse will be boisterous, fun, filled with hunters and their stories.  They’ll list the beasts they’ve slaughtered, the ones that got away.  But about an hour into the night, Ash will feel like something—someone—is missing, and he won’t be able to tell who.

Then one of the latecomers will ask to hear the story behind the Leviathans.  And as the only ones who know it all are Ash, Jo, and Ellen, Ash will leave it to the girls to tell the tale.  Since this is Heaven, and they have an unlimited amount of time to spend together, Jo and Ellen will tell everything from the beginning—that is, the story of the Apocalypse, and how Sam, Dean, Bobby, and an angel named Castiel were the ones who stopped it all.

They’ll continue their story, but Ash will have slipped out the back door, having remembered the missing person when Castiel was mentioned.  Jimmy Novak.  Ash will know at this point that Castiel is dead—his ability to tune in to “angel radio” is still as apt as ever, and he’ll wonder if Jimmy was able to sense Castiel’s passing.

When he finds Jimmy, the human soul will be standing in his bedroom, looking in the mirror.  Ash will ask him what he’s doing, and he’ll look down and say, “He’s gone now, isn’t he?  Is that what you’ve come to tell me?”

For a moment, Ash will be at a loss of what to say.  Recovering, he’ll tell Jimmy about the party he’s having in honor of Bobby, the Winchesters, and Castiel having saved the world again.  Jimmy will thank him, but he’ll decline, politely, because he won’t be comfortable around all of those hunters.  Ash will give him an open invitation to come anytime, and Jimmy will thank him again, in that same quiet voice.

As Ash leaves Jimmy’s realm, he’ll feel certain that he will never see Jimmy again.

Tomorrow morning, Crowley’s expert will tell the world that what happened in the night was the result of extraterrestrial influence.  He’ll remind people of that one episode of _The Twilight Zone_ —“The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street”—in which aliens sparked paranoia among humans and stepped back to wait for them to destroy each other.  He’ll say that Rod Serling was too right, that this night was proof that all of humanity has to stick together as a whole.

For three days, Dean will hover at Sam’s bedside, nursing him back to full health.  Sam will feel perfectly fine on the third morning, but he’ll pretend to be feebler than he is, because he’ll understand that Dean needs to have someone to look after.  And maybe Dean will pretend not to know, but no one needs to know that.

In all this time, Balthazar will remain on Earth, and when Dean asks why he isn’t returning to Heaven, his default response will always be because Cas wanted him to look after Dean.  Dean will accept that answer, but he’ll take note of every time Balthazar’s eyes linger on Sam.  He’ll realize that even though the angel’s Grace is still woefully incomplete, it shines just a bit brighter in those moments.  And maybe he won’t understand why or how that happens, but he will accept that it _does_ get easier.

Over the next few weeks, humans claiming to know more about monsters will come forth, sharing their experiences, and their audiences will be more receptive to them.  Slowly, humans will come to realize on their own that the threat is not extraterrestrial, that the monsters live and die on Earth.  Hunters will see a surge in their numbers.

Upon returning to Hell, Crowley and Meg will work out a deal.  Meg will take over the torture of souls in order to create demons.  Crowley will remain King of Hell, but he will respect Meg’s opinions.  Of course, neither demon will trust the other, so Meg will ensure that the demons that she creates are very loyal to her, and Crowley will always keep his hounds close by in case Meg or one of her followers decides to attack him.

All of this means that really, in Hell, nothing much will have changed—instead of Lilith and Alastair, there will be Crowley and Meg, respectively.  And it will run as smoothly as it did before—almost.  If Meg occasionally finds herself missing the demon that she rescued from the racks, she’ll quickly choose a ripe soul to torture and work herself into a frenzy until the moment of weakness has passed.  And if Crowley occasionally feels the need to be merciful, he will appear before Meg.  The ensuing shouting match will generate enough ill will within the King of Hell to last him safely through the next year or so.

But every now and then, Meg will see a soul that resembles _that_ one.  And all she’ll be able to see is the anomalous heroism there was in that soul, the strange quality that she’d never before seen in a fellow demon.  Unable to take up a blade against anything resembling Bela, she will pass the soul on to the next demon or demon-in-training.  And then she will go to Crowley.  They won’t ever speak of Meg’s weak moments of mourning, just as they will never mention Crowley’s sporadic bouts of compassion.

And over the long Hell-years, this pair of dysfunctional demons will develop a tentative friendship, though they will rip out the tongue of anyone who dares refer to their relationship as such.

After Sam makes his recovery, he and Dean will take a few deserved weeks off from hunting.  Dean will watch as Sam and Balthazar circle each other, never tackling the issue between them, and he won’t understand their hesitance.  And then one day, when Dean is mentioning this to Bobby, the old hunter will forget and comment that Dean was always like this when it came to Cas.  Dean will stiffen, but before Bobby can apologize, Dean will have disappeared into the garage.

He won’t speak to anyone until Balthazar comes in with some kind of expensive, European wine whose name Dean can’t pronounce.

The angel will tell him stories about Castiel, stories about the warrior side of Castiel that Dean honestly didn’t see that much of.  He’ll tell Dean a story about Castiel’s midnight-black wings, how their slightly-larger-than-average size made Castiel a clumsy flier and the target of some rather nasty teasing when he was still very young, and how that same size made Castiel faster than almost all the other angels when he matured.

He’ll talk about the things that he taught Castiel when they were growing up—how to fly straight, how to be strong, how to wield a blade—and then he’ll tell Dean about the qualities that Castiel showed him in return—unfailing faith, tenacious loyalty, and, later on, adaptability.  He’ll talk about how much Dean influenced Castiel, for better or for worse, and of course he’ll slap in a few derisive comments about Dean’s character, but what protective older brother wouldn’t?

Dean won’t say much, but Balthazar will know that he’s grateful, and when they reenter the house, Sam will be there to thrust the keys to the Impala into Dean’s hand.  “Bring me back some food.  I’m hungry,” he’ll say.

“Bitch,” Dean will complain, but he’ll be grinning as he exits the house.

Sam will sigh when Dean’s gone, and Balthazar will tell him that Dean is fine.  That Dean’s coping much better than Balthazar did.  And he’ll be able to say this with a clear conscience because it’s the truth.

Sam will ask about Balthazar’s past, and Balthazar will tell him the story, from beginning to end.  How he met Leliel, the angel from another garrison who lost his way and ended up meeting Balthazar and Cas.  How the same angel intentionally “lost his way” a second time and caught Balthazar alone.  How it felt in the first few years, falling for Leliel, and how it was to finally bond and be together.

Then Sam will ask where it all went wrong, and Balthazar will glaze over the details of Leliel’s death and his own downward spiral, but Sam will touch his hand and insist that Balthazar tell him everything.

“Trust me—I’ve loved before.  I know what it feels like,” Sam will say, and he will think of the lovely Jessica Moore, the girl whose family still hates him because he survived when she didn’t.  They don’t even know just how much her death was his fault, how she would have lived a happy, normal life if she’d never met him.

And because Balthazar has been in Sam’s head before, he will know exactly where Sam’s thoughts have gone.  To distract him from his guilt, Balthazar will finish his own story, with every painful detail intact.

When Dean returns, he will overhear Balthazar beginning to make his confession to Sam.  And he’ll promptly turn around and go right back outside before the lovebirds can discover his presence, because while he’s happy that this is finally being resolved, he won’t want to hear it, no matter what the outcome is.

He won’t want to hear the angel’s disappointment if that’s what happens, not when he’s already so aware of the holes in his Grace.  And if all’s well and Sam and Balthazar will live happily ever after, Dean won’t want to feel the inevitable bitterness that will well up inside him.  Because they’ll have each other, and Dean will still be alone.

Dean will sit down on the hood of the same car that he’d sat on with Cas so long ago, that night when they’d just leaned back against the windshield and looked up at the stars.  He’ll stay there the rest of the day, wishing, waiting.

When the Winchesters bid Bobby farewell, Balthazar will offer to take him back to Heaven.  But the old hunter could never take the easy pill, not when there was another option.  So he will stay, keeping the phone lines open.  He’ll return to his wife in time, he knows.  And besides, Sam and Dean will need him to stay as long as he can, the idjits.

Balthazar will briefly visit Heaven, and I will allow him to stay with the boys, because they deserve that, after everything.  I won’t offer anything about Castiel, and he won’t ask.  And then he will return to the Winchesters, and they will carry on hunting.

And every night that they aren’t hunting, before they go to sleep, Dean will go off on his own for a few minutes.  Sam and Balthazar won’t ask, but they’ll know that he’s gone to pray again.  Because he will never give up the hope that maybe, against all odds, Cas will defeat Death again.  That maybe Cas is still out there, fighting to get back to him.  And maybe, just maybe, Dean’s prayers are the only thing that will keep Cas going.

After a few months of this, Sam will want to tell Dean it’s hopeless, that what he really needs is to mourn Cas properly and move on, but Balthazar will stop him.  And when Sam asks why, Balthazar will tell him that really, those prayers are the only thing that keeps _Dean_ going.

* * *

But that’s enough of the future for now.  After all, if I’ve learned anything in my long existence, it is that even my plans can be changed, and by mere humans.  Sam and Dean Winchester have a history of defying my visions for them.

After making all of the necessary arrangements in Heaven and sticking around for a few days to ensure that all is running smoothly, I descend into Hell, where Crowley and Meg are peacefully coexisting, owing to their new system.  I mask myself to ensure that they won’t be able to sense my presence and reach the cage.  Sadness surrounds me as I enter it—my brother continues to exude this extreme cold as a result of his anger, but there is also sadness, fear, and loss.

“Lucifer, show yourself,” I say.

At my command, he appears before me, as brilliant as he always was.  And he just barely stops himself from shrinking back.

“You—you’re _God_ —” he says in his true voice, and the walls of the cage shake with the sound.

“Still Michael,” I tell him.  “I am still your brother.”  I give him a human form, so the cage will remain undisturbed, and then I say, “I am here to bring you home.”

Lucifer looks angry.  “Come to taunt me, hmm?  Come to rub it in that Father passed His power to you?  That—” here he stops, thoughts grinding to a halt.  “If… if you’re God, then Father…”

“He passed,” I say.  “All that’s left of Him resides in me now.”

“And this is what you decide to do with that power?  Drop down into Hell and free the monster that Father saw fit to throw in a cage down here?”

I look down.  “Father may have been the one who laid down the path, but I was the one who put you in here.  And I’ve regretted it ever since.”

“Yes, that is exactly what it sounded like when we met for the final battle,” he says sarcastically.

“I was wrong, brother.  I thought—”

“Do you think everything will be all right now just because you’ve seen the error of your ways and decided to pull me back out of Hell?  I suffered down here for over two thousand years, Michael.  And as soon as I came up for air, I was thrown right back down.”

“I was pulled down with you.”

“Yes.  And then you burrowed into my vessel, forced me out, and made your own so uninhabitable that I could not take it.  Tell me—was it worth it?  How is the Earth, now?  I felt missiles taking off and landing.  Has World War III come and gone already?”

“No.  The world is safe and sound,” I say.  “Return to Heaven with me.”

Lucifer hesitates, and I can tell that he’s not sure how much he believes me.  He thinks I’m tricking him, that I’ll tell him I’m lying as soon as he starts to believe me.  That I want to crush his hope.  It’s strange to know in such intimate detail exactly what my brother is thinking.  In the past, for me—Michael—I could only guess at his innermost thoughts.  Reading the thoughts of normal angels was always simple, but not those of fellow archangels.

“I am being completely honest, Lucifer.  Come,” I say reassuringly, stepping toward him.  I hold out my palm and wait—I could take him out by force, but I would much rather lead him out of here, hand in hand.

But Lucifer takes a small step back.  “No.  Don’t you remember how it was to be trapped down here?  Do you have any idea how it felt to be trapped in here with no hope for escape?  No, of course you don’t.  The instant you found yourself locked up, you devised a way of escape and made sure I wouldn’t be able to leave using the same method.  That was just as heartless as what you did the first time, brother.  How can you possibly think that we’ll go straight back to how we were?”

“I never thought that we could go back, Lucifer.  I don’t _want_ to go back.”

“Then what?  You want to start over, is that it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that.  If you want to start over, make yourself another brother.  You’re God now, after all.  You could create the perfect little brother, the one who would worship you without ever questioning you—the brother that I wasn’t.”

“That’s not what I want, Lucifer.  That’s not what any of us want.  I’ve spoken to Gabriel and Raphael about this.  We want you to return.”

“Yes, and what of what I want?”

“What _do_ you want?”

Lucifer falters, as though he didn’t expect me to ask this question.  No, of course he didn’t expect it.  He still thinks I don’t care—he’s so sure of it that he hasn’t even thought up an answer to this question.  He doesn’t know what he wants anymore, does he?

“Please, brother, come with me.  Come home.  We can be a family again.”

“Family.  We were never a family, were we?”

“Yes, we were,” I say softly.  “Do you have nothing but bad memories?  Do you not remember Gabriel’s tricks, how he was the only one who could ever make Raphael laugh?  Do you not remember all the time he spent complaining about the boredom until even we were pleading with Father to fill the world with more inhabitants?  And all the times we crossed blades in the Heavens?  I taught you all that you know of combat, of strength, and you taught me about light, about how to love.”

“And then you broke my heart.”

“We broke each other’s hearts,” I correct him.  For a moment it looks like he’s going to argue, but he only turns away from me.  “Lucifer, your quarrel with Father—with me—it is all over.  Father has gone.  We have left only each other.”  As I speak these words, I reach for him, turning him back to face me again.  “Rise, brother.  Rise with me, and together, we shall rule our Father’s kingdom.”

He looks up at me wordlessly, and when I extend my hand a second time, he drops his gaze to it.

“Please, Lucifer,” I say.  “I’ve missed you so much.  You can’t say that you haven’t felt the same.”

He still says nothing, and I begin to wonder if he will continue to lie to me.  But then his hand comes up to rest in mine, and I look up at him, surprised.

“I’ve missed you too, brother.”

I pull him into an embrace and am relieved when he doesn’t struggle or push me away.  He doesn’t hug me back either, but that can wait.  We have time to mend everything that’s happened between us.

A moment later, I step back and, grasping his hand again, take us out of the cage and straight into Heaven.  Raphael and Gabriel are already waiting, as instructed.

“Brother,” Raphael says, clapping a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder.  “I thought you would not come.”

“You wanted me killed,” Lucifer says coldly, shrugging Raphael’s hand off.

“Yes—so did Michael,” Raphael responds.

Gabriel rolls his eyes.  “Luci only _just_ got back.  Can we spare the fighting for later?  Come here, bro.”

Lucifer looks at his little brother warily.  “I killed you.”

“Well, yeah.  And Michael threw you into the cage, and Raphael was fighting a war so that he’d be able to kill you.  So we’ve got some issues.  I am _way_ over it.”

“You were going to fight for the humans,” Lucifer recalls.

“And that’s exactly what I ended up doing,” Gabriel says with a smile.  “Converted good ol’ Raph here, too.”

“Do _not_ call me by that demeaning moniker,” Raphael says stiffly.

“Will you _ever_ get over yourself, you prideful—”

“I am made of Pride,” Raphael reminds Gabriel.  “What did you expect?”

Gabriel pauses for a moment, then sighs.  “Yep.  You’ve got a point there.  Anyway, I still haven’t got my hug yet!  So get over here, Luci!”

Lucifer considers rejecting his little brother, but Gabriel’s smile is so big that it reminds him of the old times, back when Gabriel still had his pristine innocence, before everything was ruined.  I watch with a smile as Lucifer steps into Gabriel’s open arms and allows himself to be embraced.

“You’re so cold,” Gabriel says as he backs away.  His eyes are on me as he asks Lucifer, “Haven’t you recovered?”

But Gabriel must know that I cannot fix Lucifer.  He must find his Love and Light on his own to cure this eternal cold.

“I’m always cold,” is Lucifer’s response.  “I’ve always been.”

“No, you haven’t,” Gabriel says, eyebrows drawing together.  “You were the warmest angel in Heaven.  You burned hotter than the rest of us.  Where’d that spark go, hmm?”

“You know very well where it went,” Lucifer snaps, drawing away from the rest of us.

A moment later, he vanishes.  I track his flight and am able to sense it when he lands in an empty realm.  Gabriel flares his wings and starts to follow, but I hold him back.

“Give him time,” I say.  “This was no fault of yours, little brother, but you must understand that his anger with me—with Father—extended to the rest of Heaven.  It will take time for these old wounds to heal.”

Gabriel nods, and it is a sign of how he’s grown that he doesn’t protest or demand that Lucifer heal _now_.  I miss his childlike innocence, but I know now that it is not possible, nor is it desirable, for any creature to retain that quality forever.

“So, what now?” Raphael asks me, and even without context, I understand that he is asking about how Heaven is to be ruled from now on.

“I wish to leave Heaven,” I say.

Raphael looks surprised and a little sad.  Gabriel, on the other hand, seems excited.

“Where are we going?  Are you going to create a new place for us?” Gabriel asks, and I smile, because the inquisitive, adventurous side of him still remains.

“I will,” I answer.  “Heaven is an eternal resting place for human souls.  We’ve called it our home for so long, but that is not really what it is to us, is it?  _Home_ is a place for rest, for comfort.  I will create a new realm for us—for angels—to have peace.  I want you two and Lucifer to join me there.”

“How will this work?” Gabriel asks.  “Who will rule Heaven?”

“I will choose an angel from those who remain.  And I will create more angels to fill up the ranks.”

“What of us?” Raphael asks.

“We will watch over the whole world,” I tell him.  “I’d like us to be free.”

Raphael frowns.  “I won’t know what to do.”

“You’ll learn to be more independent over time,” I say.  “But for now, you may follow me.”

Gabriel grins.  “I’ll go down to Earth and visit the Winchesters.  You can summon me whenever you’re ready.  And let me know when Luci lightens up, ‘kay?”

I nod.  “Very well.  Go on, brother.”

After Gabriel is gone, I lay my hand on Raphael’s head.  He glances at me, surprised, and I smile.  His power as an archangel is stable, so it seems I’ve restored him successfully.

“Thank you, Michael,” he says.

“It is no problem.”

Then Death appears before me—it’s the first time I’ve seen him since I awakened, and with this new sight, I see his great age, the perpetual weariness that he feels.

“I would like to speak to God alone,” Death says, and though his words are directed toward Raphael, he is looking at me.

Raphael nods and takes off promptly.  I don’t think he’s met Death before.

“Hello, Death.”

Death smiles.  “It is nice to see you again, old friend.”

“I take it you didn’t have any trouble with Castiel, this time,” I say.  It’s the first time I’ve spoken his name aloud since he died.

“No, no trouble.  I’d like to speak with you about him.”

And I nod.  Because Castiel was one of the most unique beings in the world, and he deserves to be spoken about and remembered.

As this thought crosses my mind, I hear Dean beginning—if my predictions are correct—the first of many prayers to Castiel.

_Hey, Cas, man.  I uh, I’m not doing so great.  Everybody says you’re gone.  Hell, you’re supposed to be gone.  I can’t feel you there anymore, and the world hasn’t ended, so that means you’ve gotta be dead.  But uh, you’ve come back before.  And I just…_

He pauses for a while, and when I look at Death, he’s just watching me, and I know that he is waiting for Dean to finish as well.

_If… if you’re really out there, I just… please come back.  I’m waiting.  You wouldn’t… wouldn’t wanna keep me waiting, would you?  I know you wouldn’t.  So just, come back.  Please._

After he concludes his prayer, Death and I lock eyes again.

Neither of us has anything left to say.


	40. Going Back to the Start

I don’t know how much time has passed.  It could have been infinitely long, but it could have been infinitesimally short as well.  There is no way of knowing in this darkness.

It’s hard to feel anything.  I can’t see anything but black, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m looking through a pair of eyes into the dark, or if I’m looking at the backs of my eyelids.  Do I even have eyes?  I can’t tell.  I can’t move either.

All I have is this sense that something’s gone wrong.  That I really should be gone.  My consciousness should have been snuffed out already.  I think that I might have been gone for some time, because I… I do not remember anything beyond following Death away from the world of the living.

I can’t have been brought back to life again, can I?  The world isn’t this dark.  I suddenly get the phantom sensation of thrashing in thick, black goo, fighting as hard as I can to get free, but careful to keep one hand on the sigil that linked me to Balthazar.  I would shudder if I could, but I have no form to tremble with.

I begin to suspect, worry nagging at the back of my mind, that this is some form of punishment for all that I did in the years that I was alive.  But when I think back to any mistakes I made, they were either out of my control or… or just poorly judged, done because of love.  How can love be a crime?  Then again, perhaps I judge myself too leniently.  After all, even Lucifer didn’t have a guilty conscience.

What is this void?  Where am I?  _What_ am I?

I’m certainly not an angel anymore—I cannot feel my Grace anywhere.  So what?  When?  Where?  Why?  How?

So many questions, and not a single answer.

Madness.  Perhaps I’ve gone mad.  What if I’ve always been mad, and none of what I remember is real?

No—that cannot be.  Because of Dean, and everything he is, everything he was.  I can’t have imagined him, can’t have dreamed up him or his brother, his car, his world.

And the love between us… I refuse to believe that that was not real.

Could this possibly just be how it feels to be dead?  But I’d always heard that we just burned out of existence, exploding in a brilliant flash of light before dissipating.

Have I been caught, trapped in some sort of limbo, then?

With only my thoughts to keep me company, I begin to recall pieces of my life, from the day I raised Dean Winchester from Perdition.  I remember the surprise at actually observing firsthand the remarkable amount of self-loathing the man carried around.  I remember the first time he made me feel something for him, for a human.  The first time I admitted aloud that I had doubts about what we were doing, whether or not our missions were just.

But then I pause, distracted by the memory of a young Dean Winchester from an alternate universe, wide, innocent green eyes peering out the window of a car—his future car—to look at me.  In retrospect, as I recall the scene, I saw no fear in his eyes when they locked with mine.  Only surprise, which was probably what prompted him to duck out of sight.

What I wouldn’t give to see that pair of eyes again.

Suddenly something clicks into place, something I had forgotten about until now.  But the recollection of my travels between realities brought this memory to me, a memory of a reality in which Dean, Sam, Jo, Ellen, Bobby, and others were all present in one realm of Heaven.  A reality in which I had died.  A reality that may eventually become _true_ reality, as I am now dead.  And… and… the first thing that Dean had done after verifying my identity was to press my hand against his shoulder, wishing in vain to feel our bond again.  That must have been it.

I think back to the implacable sorrow in that Dean’s eyes, and grief consumes me.  That is what the future holds for _my_ Dean, the one I left behind.

But… at least this means that they will have completed the ritual and banished the Leviathans.  Eremiel had mentioned God, but he could just as easily have been referring to the new God, Michael.  The idea that the Winchesters and their friends will rest peacefully in Heaven is a comforting one.

How long has it been?  How long have I been alone with my thoughts, formless and immobile?

Perhaps more importantly, how long will I remain trapped here?

* * *

Weeks, or seconds, or hours pass, but I have no way to measure time, so there is no way for me to guess how long I’ve existed in this strange state when I’m suddenly given a form to shape as I will, soft ground to sit down on, and a bit of light.

Having grown accustomed to shapelessness and sensory deprivation for an indeterminable length of time, I am assaulted by sensation as I mold myself into the figure I consider my own.  My thoughts briefly swing toward Jimmy Novak, but they halt when a tall, thin figure approaches me.

“Apologies, Castiel, for storing you here.”

“Death,” I say, and it is strange to hear my own voice—to hear _anyone’s_ voice, really.  “How long have I been here?”

“Honestly?  I wouldn’t be able to tell you.  After Chronos stopped Time, all perception of time became skewed.  I feel as though it has been only minutes since you came with me, yet it also seems as though as least two millennia have passed since I saw you last.”

“I hate time paradoxes.”

Death chuckles.  “As do we all.”

“Was the ritual successful?” I blurt out—I need to _know_.  “Is Dean all right?”

“Yes, yes.  All went well.”

I let out a sigh of relief before turning to my current situation.  “Why did you… ‘store’ me here?  And where is ‘here,’ anyway?”

“I preserved your consciousness because I wanted to.”

Because he wanted to?  What is that even supposed to mean?

“As for where this is… we are currently in my mind,” Death continues.

“Your…”

“Mind, yes.  Now, God would like to speak with you privately.”

“No.  No, wait.  God is—”

“Michael.”

Oh—yes.  I’d come to that conclusion on my own, though I cannot tell how long ago it was, and it appears that now I’ll never know.

“That’s not entirely true, I suppose,” Death says, picking up on my thoughts.  “I stayed in limbo longer than others, simply because I have existed for a longer amount of time.  It is easier for me to drift away.  It’s been several days since they completed the ritual, and time started again.  Now—”

“No,” I interrupt.  “You will not leave me with an answer so vague as ‘because I wanted to.’  What is that supposed to mean?”

“Ah, Castiel.  You really are unique.  Can’t you accept a blessing when you’ve received one?  I’ve kept you here so that you can speak to God again.”

“But _why?_ ”

“Because I wanted to.”

“Why are you allowed to act upon these whims, then?”

Death smiles.  “I am old, Castiel.  Very old.”

“Yes—this is what you told Dean,” I say.

“I lied when I said that no one knows who came first—God, or me,” he says.  “You see, God existed alone for an immeasurable amount of time.  But even in his solitude, there were already set rules to existence.  Everything that begins must end.  In the instant that God completed his first creation, he unknowingly brought about my formation.  I am Death—I am the Thing that ends all.  If ever there is a day when I reap the very last being in existence, then I shall cease to exist as well.”

I don’t bother trying to wrap my head around this—it is too much for me to think about right now, and I’ve had enough thinking in this timeless place.  “What is the relevance of this?” I ask.

“Well.  I get to choose when things end,” he responds.  “I was the one who prompted God’s vision that you would bring about His death.  I was the one who would not take you after He’d tried to destroy you.”  Again, he smiles.  “Did you really think that you, a common angel, could defy me?”

I frown.  “Then… but Michael said—”

“You are different because God made you different, even though He did not realize it.  I rejected your first form, the one that God hastily destroyed.  And when He recreated you, He was afraid.  He took more care with your Grace than He did with the angels before and after you.”

“So you… _tricked God_.  Why… why would you do that?”

“Why does anyone do anything?”

I open my mouth to tell him that that isn’t an answer at all, but Death shakes his head, and my voice leaves me.  “That is enough, Castiel.  You already know far more than you rightfully should.  Now, you will speak to our new God.”

With these final words, the manifestation of Death vanishes.

I am frustrated with his answers—I’m sure that as soon as I have enough energy to sift through everything, I will have even more questions—but I understand that these are not matters to be shared lightly.  Death is not to be trifled with.

I feel God’s presence before He arrives, familiar but different, and compose myself, reorganizing my thoughts.  All that I learned about Death can be saved for later.  Then God manifests Himself before my eyes, taking the guise of young John Winchester—it appears that this shape is to Him what Jimmy Novak’s is to me.

“Castiel,” He says with a warm smile.

“God.”

He frowns.  “You should not call me that.  You are my brother, Castiel.”

“Then… what am I to call you?”

“Michael.  As you’ve always called me.”

“You say that as though we are old friends when in fact—”

“Stop,” God—Michael commands. “I am sure that Death did not preserve your consciousness so that you and I could debate my title and the length of our brotherhood.  I come to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For giving your life, and not for the reason you think, although I am indeed grateful that you allowed the Leviathans to be banished.  You see… there was a condition to my acceptance of this power, and it was that you had to die before I could become God.”

I stare at Him for a long moment.  Is this Death’s doing as well?  Or was it a stipulation from the old God—our Father?  “Why?” I finally ask.

“I cannot say—just accept that you are different.  When you were created, you caused our Father to feel panic for the first time.  When you first laid eyes on our Father, He died.  Isn’t it to be expected that your death would be significant as well?” Michael reasons, and I wonder if He is simply parroting the information that Death gave to Him.

Though God possesses all the power in the world, Death is the true master at the center of the web.

“Very well.  If that was all… you’ve thanked me, and you are welcome,” I say.  “Now will you let me die in peace?”

Michael laughs.  “I hear Dean’s influence on you.”  A smile lingers on His face as He continues, “I wish to grant you one request, as my thanks to you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

I’m on the verge of asking for my life back when I remember Dean—perfect, broken Dean whose life has had much more pain and sorrow than any man deserves.  And I know exactly what to ask for.

“I want Dean to live a long, happy life.”

Michael’s eyebrows lift in surprise, but His smile widens, and I see that He is pleased.

When He doesn’t speak, I open my mouth to ask Him what He’s waiting for, but then He lifts a hand, and I silence myself.  His hand comes up to rest on my cheek, and I feel Grace pouring into me, suffusing me with light.  I look at Michael questioningly.  Why—

“Nothing in the world could make him happier than this,” He says.

* * *

_Screams filter in from outside.  I frown and look away from the written incantation.  I’ve already memorized it, but it never hurts to review.  Moving away from the table, I consider the source of the noise.  Demon smoke comes close, blanketing the windows and, I presume, the rest of the building._

_So Crowley has chosen to return, after all.  Well, I can handle him._

_“Never underestimate the King of Hell, darling,” Crowley says, appearing in the room.  “I know a lot of swell tricks.  Now, I think it’s time to re-renegotiate our terms.”_

_I shift out of the room and land behind the demon.  He turns to face me, and I place my hand on his forehead, intending to smite him._

_Nothing happens._

_“Sweaty hands, mate,” Crowley says._

_I pull my hand back.  “I don’t understand.”_

_“You can palm me all you want.  I’m safe and sound under the wing of my new partner,” Crowley says, gesturing to his right._

_Right on cue, my brother appears in his female vessel.  “Hello, Castiel.”_

_“Raphael,” I respond.  It’s a good thing I prepared for this.  “Consorting with demons,” I say.  “I thought that was beneath you.”_

_“Heard_ you _were doing it.  Sounded like fun,” Raphael quips._

_“You know, Castiel y-you’ve said all sorts of shameful, appalling, scatological things about Raphael.  I’ve found him,_ her _, to be really quite reasonable,” Crowley says._

_“You fool.  Raphael will deceive and destroy you at the speed of thought.”_

_“Right, right, ‘cause you’re such a straight shooter,” he says sarcastically.  “She, he, has offered me protection against all comers.”_

_“In exchange for what?” I ask._

_“The Purgatory blood.”_

_Raphael clicks his tongue.  “Castiel, you really think I would let you open that door?  Take in_ that _much power?  If anyone is going to be the new God, it’s me.”_

_“He’s gonna bring the Apocalypse, and worse,” I say to Crowley._

_“Hey, this is your doing, mate.  I’m merely grabbing the best offer on the table.  Now, you have two options.”  He adopts a voice that I’m sure is supposed to be a parody of mine and says, “Flee, or die.”_

_I pick up the jar of blood that I left sitting on the counter and toss it to Crowley before taking flight.  I’d almost thought that Crowley wasn’t going to come, but it’s a good thing that I waited until the last minute.  If I’d cleaned up the decoy, I wouldn’t have been able to leave that room._

_I land in a different abandoned warehouse, routinely checking my surroundings before placing a few precautionary wards so that others won’t be able to find me.  Then I take out the correct jar of blood and screw open the lid, dipping my fingers in to begin drawing sigils on the wall.  I pause a few times to make sure I’ve drawn everything as instructed, and when I finish, I place the jar on the ground._

_A moment later, the eclipse begins, and I recite the incantation from memory, keeping my pronunciation clear and formal.  The entire incantation takes less than a minute to speak, and then the wall begins to crumble away.  I brace myself for what’s about to come._

_As the first soul crosses the barrier, I spread my arms and wings wide, blocking its path and opening my vessel and Grace to accept it.  The soul enters, soon followed by another, and another, and then several.  The souls come in faster and faster, glowing brighter as they begin to cross in larger groups.  The pressure in me grows steadily as the number of souls skyrockets—they’re racing into me now._

_It starts to hurt, to become too much, but I resist the urge to cry out.  The stream is slowing down slightly now.  The worst must be over._

_And then they stop coming, and the door falls shut.  For one disorienting moment, I’m lost between millions and millions of minds, but then the moment ends, and the pressure dies down._

_All of these souls, all of this power… this is perfect._

_Yes—this is how it was always meant to be._ This _is why I am different.  I was made for this.  I will create a new world, and all will bow down before me.  Hell… I suppose Hell will have to remain, but I will shrink it down to a proper size.  Earth can stay as well.  And Heaven will be… however I wish it to be._

_For it is a new era, and I am God._

_But before I reach any of these goals, there are some lingering affairs to be settled._

_I appear in the building that I had fled just a few minutes ago, holding my now-empty jar of blood.  Funny how I’d been so worried about Raphael.  With all of this power, I could squash him under my thumb._

_None of the occupants of the room can see me, but I see and hear all of them._

_Standing beside Raphael, Crowley is almost finished with the incantation.  Dean and Bobby are on the ground, trying to recover from what Raphael or Crowley has surely done to them.  See, they should have listened to me.  Then they would not be in this mess.  Their presence saddens me—Sam will suffer for their stubbornness.  I remember deciding that I would save Sam nevertheless, but I see now that that sentiment is wrong.  How else will Dean and Bobby learn to correct their stubborn and disobedient ways?_

_Then Crowley finishes the incantation, but nothing happens.  I smile._

_“Mhmm.  Maybe I said it wrong,” the demon muses._

_I enter the human plane and say, “You said it perfectly.  What you needed was this.”  I place the jar down on one of the tables and note that Dean and Bobby have recovered sufficiently to get to their feet._

_Dean looks at me, and I can’t classify what his expression means—is that worry?  Or fear?  Or concern?  I look away from him and at Crowley and Raphael instead._

_“I see,” Crowley says.  He walks over to the wall and runs a finger through the blood.  “And we’ve been working with—” he lifts the finger to his mouth to taste it “—dog blood.  Naturally.”_

_I smile.  I’ve tricked a demon.  That’s something that most angels cannot claim, as demons tend to be far more devious than angels._

_“Enough of these games, Castiel.  Give us the blood,” Raphael says, ever the slow child of the bunch._

_“You—” Crowley begins, but he cuts himself off and says instead, “Game’s over.  His jar’s empty.  So, Castiel, how’d your ritual go?  Better than ours, I’ll bet.”_

_I close my eyes and allow the souls inside me to shine outward.  I’m aware that this is ostentatious and would be considered showing off, but I really can’t bring myself to care at the moment.  I’ve won, and I might as well flaunt my victory, if only for a moment._

_“You can’t imagine what it’s like,” I say, restraining the souls yet again.  “They’re all inside me.  Millions upon millions of souls.”_

_“Sounds sexy.  Exit stage Crowley,” the demon says._

_I decide to let him depart—I’ll need someone to rule over Hell, and although Crowley tried to double-cross me, the Hell that he manages is much neater than it was before he took over._

_Then I see Raphael spreading his large, gold wings in preparation to leave, and I ground him with a thought, pinning him in place.  His eyes widen in surprise._

_“Now what’s the matter, Raphael?  Somebody clip your wings?” I ask.  To emphasize the point, I give each of his currently useless wings a gentle—almost playful—tug._

_“Castiel, please,” he says, and it’s fitting that he’s begging now.  “You let the demon go, but not your own brother?”_

_He forfeited his position as my brother the day that he turned on me and demanded that I kneel before him.  “The demon I have plans for,” I say. “You on the other hand…”_

_I begin to apply pressure to my brother on all sides.  Then I snap my fingers.  His vessel explodes, and his Grace is ripped apart with it.  His blade drops onto the ground and rolls a few feet._

_“So you see,” I say, walking away from Dean and Bobby, “I saved you.”_

_“Sure thing, Cas.  Thank you,” Dean says cautiously._

_“You doubted me, fought against me, but I was right all along,” I say, turning back to face them with a smile._

_“Okay, Cas, you were.  We’re sorry.  Now let’s just defuse you, okay?”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“You’re full of nuke.  It’s not safe.  So, before the eclipse ends, let’s get them souls back to where they belong,” Dean explains._

_“Oh no, they belong with me,” I say._

_“No, Cas, it’s it—it’s scrambling your brain.”_

_“No, I’m not finished yet,” I say.  “Raphael had many followers, and I must… punish them all severely.”  Well, perhaps not all of them.  I should be a merciful god—I’ll give them chances to swear fealty to me.  Yes, that would be good._

_“Listen to me,” Dean says, moving closer.  “Listen, I know there’s a lot of bad water under the bridge, but we were family once.  I’d have died for you.  I almost did a few times.  So if that means anything to you…”_

_It might have once, but I have_ died _, not_ almost _-died, more than once for him, and that didn’t stop him from abandoning me, disowning me, when I needed his support the most.  As I think this, I sense a human entering the room, and—yes, it’s Sam.  I’m surprised that he made it here, quite honestly, but the Winchesters have always had talent for surprising me._

_But Dean is still speaking, “Please.  I’ve lost Lisa, I’ve lost Ben, and now I’ve lost Sam.  Don’t make me lose you too.”_

_He’s already lost me.  He lost me the moment he looked at me and decided that I was no better than a demon._

_“You don’t need this kind o’ juice anymore, Cas.  Get rid of it before it kills us all,” he finishes vehemently._

_“You’re just saying that because I won,” I answer.  “Because you’re afraid.  You’re not my family, Dean.  I have no family.”_

_Just then, Raphael’s blade slides into my back, parting the flesh of my human vessel.  It does me no harm, though it does burn up three of the souls inside me.  Behind me, Sam lets out a groan—his head must still be in colossal pain, even if he is up and functioning.  I reach behind me and extract the sword from my back, placing it down on the table.  Now, I have literally been stabbed in the back by the Winchesters._

_“I’m glad you made it, Sam,” I say, and I do mean this.  I regretted putting his mind in such a state, and now I can’t even fix it, because Dean and Bobby chose not to listen to me.  “But the angel blade won’t work,” I continue, “because I’m not an angel anymore.”_

_The three humans look surprised._

_“I’m your new God,” I announce.  “A better one.  So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord… or I shall destroy you.”_

_Behind me, Sam staggers back a step.  I just look at Dean and Bobby expectantly, but each passing moment tells me that they really don’t have faith in me._

_Then Bobby slowly lowers himself onto his knees.  “Well, all right then,” he says.  “Is this good, or you want the whole ‘forehead to the carpet’ thing?”  When I don’t respond, he glances at Dean.  “Guys?”_

_Dean and Sam start to follow suit, but I can’t stand it._

_“Stop,” I say before they can actually get down to their knees.  “What’s the point if you don’t mean it?  You fear me.  Not love, not respect, just fear.”_

_“Cas…” Sam begins._

_“Sam, you have nothing to say to me—you stabbed me in the back.”  He falls silent, and I look at Dean and Bobby.  “Get up.”_

_“Cas, come on, this isn’t you,” Dean says._

_“The Castiel you knew is gone,” I say.  A small voice in my head adds,_ you didn’t want him, Dean _.  I shake the sentiment away—I am not subject to his needs and desires.  They are of no consequence to me, now._

_“So what, then?  Kill us?”_

_Who does he think he is?  “What a brave little ant you are.  You know you’re powerless—you wouldn’t dare move against me again.  That would be pointless.  So I have no need to kill you.  Not now.  Besides… once you were my favorite pets, before you turned and bit me.”_

_“Who are you?” Dean asks, and I realize while he’s asking the question that Sam’s valiantly struggling to remain conscious._

_“I’m God,” I say—do I really have to say things twice for these humans to understand me?  “And if you stay in your place, you may live in my kingdom.  If you rise up, I will strike you down.  Not doing so well, are you, Sam?”_

_“I’m fine,” Sam says.  He clears his throat before repeating, “I’m fine.”_

_“You said you would fix him—you promised!” Dean barks._

_“_ If _you stood down, which you hardly did,” I remind him.  Sam’s continued suffering is his doing, not mine.  If he had just listened, I would be more than happy to fix Sam right now.  “Be thankful for my mercy.  I could have cast you back into the pit.”_

_“Cas, come on, this is nuts!  You can turn this around, please!” Dean says desperately._

_Why does he think this is all so terrible?  Perhaps it really is true that humans have a limited understanding of what is good and what is bad in the world._

_“I hope for your sake this is the last you see me,” I say right before taking off._

_There is much work to be done._

* * *

The moment that I return into being, and the ones that follow, are bewildering and overwhelming.  There is instant relief, followed by shock and disbelief, and then a strong bout of indignant anger.  It takes me nearly a minute to sort through the nonsensical emotions, reconciling myself with my newly recreated vessel.

And then I know the sensations are Dean’s and instantly allow the bond to guide me to him.  I find myself grateful that the bond between us remained despite my latest trip to the other side.

I land in the room as Sam’s lecturing Dean about the difference between having hope and being completely delusional—it seems that Dean has already told Sam that he felt my return, and Sam is now trying to convince him otherwise.  Balthazar stands quietly to the side, and he starts when he detects my presence.

“Dean,” I say, and he spins around to face me.

The instant that his eyes land on me, they darken with lust and anger, but beneath the swirl of stronger emotions lies an undercurrent of relief.

“You son of a _bitch!_ ” he says emphatically, stomping toward me.  When he pushes at my chest, I allow him to slam me into the wall, hands fisted in the lapels of my coat.

“Dean, wait—” Sam begins.

“It’s… really him,” Balthazar breathes, cutting Sam off by laying a hand upon his shoulder.

I don’t catch the next bit of conversation between the two because Dean slams his fist into my cheek, and I have to turn my head the other way to make sure he doesn’t break his hand.

“Fuck,” he hisses in pain.

“Dean,” Sam says, wrenching his brother away from me.

But Dean shrugs Sam off, scowling at me.  “What the hell did you think you were doing, offering yourself up like that?  You _promised_ me that you’d never… and—”

“He’s back, isn’t he?” Balthazar interrupts.

“That’s not the point!” Dean shouts, turning on my brother.

“Dean, calm down,” Sam says, gripping Dean’s arm.

Balthazar steps around Dean and approaches me with a smile.  “I thought I’d never see you again, brother.”

“Yes, I know.”

He smiles a little wider and spreads his arms out to either side.  When I don’t immediately step forward, he reaches out and pulls me into an embrace.  His wings brush against mine gently.  I feel a flare of jealousy from Dean and extricate myself from my brother’s arms, but the sentiment remains.

“I would like to speak with Dean in private,” I say.

Sam chuckles.  “You don’t have to ask permission, Cas.  You’re the reason why the world’s not ending.”

“The world’s always ending, silly human,” Balthazar says, and I don’t miss the note of fondness in his tone.  Then, to me, he projects, _You’ll have to tell me what happened when you’re through with lover boy here._

_Of course_ , I respond.

Sam looks between Dean and me before heading toward the door, and I notice for the first time that this appears to be Sam’s room and not Dean’s.  Balthazar follows Sam out, and we are left alone.

“Don’t hit me again,” I say, keeping an eye on his fists.  I don’t want him to hurt himself.

Dean’s jaw clenches, but he says nothing—the tirade from before seems to have fizzled out, leaving behind a silent glare.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

This is apparently the wrong thing to say, because anger resurges forcefully, and Dean steps forward to slam me against the wall again.  I open my mouth to tell him to calm down, but his mouth covers mine in a harsh kiss, more teeth than tongue.  I remain pliant and allow him to have his way with my mouth, wincing when his teeth sink into my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

And then he pulls back.  “Sorry, Cas?  You really think _sorry_ is enough?”  His lips press against mine again, just the briefest of touches, before he’s speaking again.  “I thought you—fuck.  No, you—you were _really_ dead!  How could you do that to me?”

“Dean—”

“You _knew_ what would happen to me.  You _knew_ it.  Fuck, Cas!”

“I had to,” I say, annoyed now.  “You and Sam could not have let each other die, and—”

“Oh, so you thought I could just let _you_ die instead?”

I stare hard at him.  “I know you,” I say.  “Sam is always going to be your priority.  Do you deny it?”

He’s silent for a moment, just continuing to glare at me.

“You know we had no time,” I say.  “I understand that you were in pain, and that it was my choice that caused you pain.  But stop acting like it was the wrong decision.  Can you do that, Dean?”

He lets out a long breath of air, eyes dropping away from mine.  But he collects himself quickly—seconds later, he’s pressing a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth.

“I was lost,” he whispers, and it’s a confession.  “I don’t know how long I was lost, but I… I’d never felt so empty before.  Like a fucking zombie.”

He sucks my lower lip into his mouth and gently tongues at the places where his teeth broke skin.  And then he moans.  I shudder, remembering another Dean who moaned in an eerily similar way when he tasted my blood.

“What the hell, Cas?” he murmurs against my lips.

I could explain that angel blood is obviously going to taste different from human blood, that it is almost like demon blood in this respect.  I could say that the Grace of an angel would obviously alter the composition of its vessel in some way.  But instead of responding verbally, I let my tongue slip out into his mouth, returning the kiss.  My hands cruise up his sides gently, and I wish I could soothe his pain for all of eternity.

“Promise me you’ll never leave me,” he says when we part, his green eyes boring into mine.

“I promise.”

“And mean it, this time.  You’re not allowed to die on me ever again.”

“I understand,” I say.

Dean breaks into a small, brief smile, but in it I see that he has faith in me.  Dean, who lacked faith from the start, has finally found some in me.

As his lips travel over my face, mapping out my features, I smile, because I now know that regardless of what the future holds for us, we will have each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I'm finally done uploading. Sorry I took so long to post it all here. Hope you liked the story, and thanks for reading!


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